


amor fati

by theputterer



Series: cassian andor nonsense [4]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence - Star Wars Expanded Universe, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Earn Your Happy Ending, F/M, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Forgiveness, Future Fic, Getting Back Together, Grief/Mourning, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Returning Home, Romance, Separations, Some Current Expanded Universe For Funsies, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, This Story Has EVERYTHING, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 14:06:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 100,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11209617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theputterer/pseuds/theputterer
Summary: There are three women on Sernpidal: a long-dead one who left to find a new home, a dying one who came back to be home, and a surviving one who is looking for home.There are three boys, young and old, trying to understand their mothers, on Sernpidal, Yavin 4, and Fest.The past is a mirror, and it shows the future.But the past is not always entirely understood.And the future is not set in stone.And neither, for that matter, is Cassian.There is still time to be good, still time to go home, still time to be forgiven.Still time before the end.





	1. Ad perpetuam memoriam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ad perpetuam memoriam: to the perpetual memory.

**_Present, 10 ABY_ **

Jyn gets the call at four in the morning.

She’s asleep, naturally; she’s asleep before midnight most days, her work demands she wake up with the sun, and Onderon’s sun, Prael, is particularly ruthless. Whenever she can’t fall asleep, she lies in her bed, and looks out the window. She’s always able to see at least one of the four moons that orbit the planet, each one a different shade of green. She lets their constancy warm her, comfort her, as her brain buzzes with the general quiet of the room, the noise from the outside an occasional ship that only barely manages to drown out the noises of the jungles.

The hisses, squawks, cries, and groans of the jungle lull her to sleep, as they did when she was a child on Onderon, growing up in the shadow of Saw Gerrera. They calm her similarly now, as a thirty-two-year-old woman who has been alone far more often than she’s ever been with anyone.

This is why she’s startled back to consciousness by the shrill ringing of an incoming hologram message.

She swears, jerking awake and sitting upright, her body too conditioned to immediate attack after literal decades of war and battle, and sleeping in dangerous locations. Her room is small, and cosy, and after two years on Onderon she’s let her guard down somewhat while inside its walls.

It takes her a moment to place the ringing sound to the hologram projector.

It’s her older one, the one only a handful of people have the connecting number to, so she immediately knows who it possibly could be.

Her mind goes through the short list; each contact is less likely than the last.

And it’s four in the morning, according to the chronometer on the floor, adding an extra layer of intrigue as to who could be calling her.

She slides out of bed, shuffling across the room, tired brain taking note of the clothes she’s wearing.

Rumpled sleep shirt and shorts.

It’ll have to do. It doesn’t matter.

Whoever is calling her at four in the morning is not calling with good news.

She approaches the ringing projector, and takes a breath, quietly sending off a prayer to anyone who might be listening.

She isn’t sure what she’s praying for, exactly.

It’s going to be bad news, so perhaps she’s only praying that it isn’t the _worst_ _news_.

She just isn’t sure what the _worst_ _news_ would be.

(Leia Organa, to tell her that he’s dead? Is that the _worst_ _news_?)

(She isn’t sure, which is a whole kind of _worst news_.)

Jyn answers the call.

The tired face of Kes Dameron appears before her, and she inhales sharply, in surprise.

“ _Kes_ ,” she breathes, because she’d known it could’ve been him or Shara calling, as they are two of the only handful of people who could contact her this way, but she hadn’t really thought they would.

She doesn’t know why he would now.

“Hi, Jyn,” Kes Dameron says, and his voice is rough, and hoarse, like he’s been talking all night.

“Kes, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Jyn demands, leaning closer, as if she can find the answer in the lines of his face, his exhausted red eyes.

As it turns out, she can.

“Oh, kriff, Kes, what’s happened?”

Kes Dameron is devastated.

He swallows.

“We’re alive,” he says, and Jyn breathes, a little of her terror alleviated. “But Shara got some bad news…”

“ _What?_ ”

“The short story is, last night, we were all having dinner when Shara felt this, this…” Kes trails off, pulling his words together, and Jyn waits. “This _blinding_ pain. She screamed once, and then she passed out. Right at the table. It was kriffing terrifying, Jyn.”

“Yes,” Jyn says, and she can’t even imagine.

“Poe and I took her to the medical center in town, and they ran some tests, and…” Kes sighs. “It’s Quannot’s Syndrome, Jyn.”

Jyn is numb with shock. Numb with horror.

(This might actually be the _worst news_.)

Quannot’s Syndrome. A disease of unknown origin, though recent medical advancements have suggested a genetic link. It causes immense pain in its victims, as the disease attacks the muscles, organs, and nerves, causing frequent and unpredictable paralysis. It strikes humans, primarily, and it can be held at bay by strong painkillers; but there is no cure. It is typically fatal within a year of diagnosis.

Jyn makes herself speak, because Kes Dameron is watching her, and waiting.

“Oh _Kes_ ,” Jyn whispers.

“Oh, good, you know what it is.”

“I’ve, uh…” Jyn swallows. “Someone in the Partisans had it. I remember.”

Mostly, she remembers Rafe screaming, constantly, as he did at the end.

Saw ended up snapping his neck in a mercy killing.

Jyn had been twelve.

“Yeah, so, you know,” Kes mumbles. “We’re still in the medical center. Poe’s sleeping, and so is Shara. They want to run more tests, see what’s going on exactly. But, uh… I’ve been calling people. They aren’t sure yet how much time she has, but they said to plan for the worst, so… Sooner rather than later. She’s gonna want to see you, Jyn. It’s been a while.”

“It has,” Jyn agrees, because she couldn’t possibly argue.

It’s been about a year and a half since she saw Kes and Shara.

They’d been happy, smiling, cheerful and laughing, when she visited their home on Yavin 4, to tell them about her recent relocation to Onderon. Kes had made food from his homeworld of Raxus, while Shara had peppered Jyn with questions on her work, and Poe--

“How’s Poe?” Jyn asks.

He’s eight years old now, she remembers.

Jyn was nine when her mother died.

They’re going to have that in common now.

“He’s okay,” Kes whispers. “He doesn’t quite understand what it all means, not yet. But… She’s gonna get sicker, real quick. And then he’ll… He’ll understand.”

And Kes Dameron begins to cry.

Jyn has to close her eyes, to keep herself together.

The shock is starting to fade, sending her spiraling towards grief.

“Kes,” she murmurs, blinking her eyes open, as Kes’ face twists and distorts with the pain of his loss. “Kes, I’ll come, of course. When do you want me to come? Name the time.”

“Uh, give us a few days,” Kes says, speaking quickly, hurriedly wiping his eyes, and Jyn knows he’s grateful for her insistence in speaking, in not trying to comfort him as he sobbed, in not pointing out his tears, or reiterating her condolences.

There will be time for that later.

“Of course,” Jyn says. “Can I bring anything? What do you need?”

“Just your smiling face,” Kes says, and Jyn laughs a little, but it’s sad.

“All right,” she agrees.

“Thanks, Jyn.”

“Of course,” Jyn says. “Give Shara my love, and tell her I’ll see her soon, yeah? Tell Poe too.”

“You got it. Good night.”

Kes’ face winks out of sight, and Jyn shakily sits down on her bed.

Shara Bey is dying.

The thought is so stunning, so horrifying, that it almost cannot be believed.

There are few people Jyn has met more full of life than Shara. Shara is someone who is almost physically _bright_ , stunningly kind, with a loud, contagious laugh, and an uncommon empathy for others. She was always the first to introduce herself to new recruits in the Alliance, to offer her fellow pilots advice on technique and training, and to lend a shoulder for someone to lean on.

Jyn has known Shara for about ten years.

It feels like it went in a blink of an eye.

Shara deserves so much more time. More time with her beloved husband, who looks at her like she hung the moon. More time with her young son, who adores her, who she wants to see grow up so badly.

It is all so _unfair_.

Jyn lies down in her bed, and stares out the window.

It might be her imagination, but the moons look dimmer tonight.

 

* * *

 

Jyn waits exactly three days, and then she walks to the public transport depot to catch the first morning public transport headed Galactic North, to the Outer Rim.

Her sleep the last few nights, following Kes’ call, and the revelation of Shara’s diagnosis, had been fitful, and interrupted by confusing and colorful dreams, featuring a wide assortment of now-dead rebels from the Alliance, the ones she met in her first months with the Alliance. She vaguely remembers dreaming of Hoth, and brilliant white snow, and the Imperial Walkers that had stormed the rebel base and sent the Alliance fleeing.

She’s woken every morning achy, and scared.

It is almost a relief to join the throng in the public transport.

Jyn had left word with her second, a man called Edvar, telling him that she was leaving Onderon for the time being and not to expect her at work for the next few days, at least. Edvar is young, but smart, and put together, and knows Onderon even better than Jyn does. He’d manage the house on his own just fine; she’s pretty sure he will, anyway, and at least she won’t be away for long.

She finds a seat near a window and tucks herself in, one hand holding her travel bag on her lap, the other resting at her side, ready to pull a blaster if need be.

It’s peacetime, but some habits die hard.

The transport is loud with chatter, and the hum of the ship’s engine, and Jyn is so exhausted and already grief-stricken, and she falls asleep minutes after they make the jump to lightspeed.

 

* * *

 

Yavin 4 is still brilliantly green.

It’s also humid out today, and Jyn realizes Yavin 4 is in the middle of its rainy season. A light rain falls on her as she exits her last transport of the day, standing in the eight-year-old town that Shara and Kes settled in when they moved to Yavin 4 permanently. The houses and stores and other buildings are mostly in shades of browns and whites, warm and inviting, looking almost natural next to the jungle that dominates the moon.

Jyn shoulders her bag, and begins the walk to Shara and Kes’ house.

She doesn’t mind the rain that splatters on her face, her raincoat buttoned up, the hood pulled over her head. It rains fairly often on Onderon, and then Jyn grew up on Lah’mu. She associates many good memories with rain, memories that warm her, that make her feel cleansed, and protected.

She keeps most of them out of her mind as she walks.

She reaches Shara and Kes’ house, and can see people through the tall windows that dominate the house. She isn’t surprised to see that she doesn’t recognize anyone, and so she knocks on the door, feeling a little uncertain and a lot exhausted.

To her surprise, the door is opened by none other than Kes.

They look at each other, and both their faces crumple in similar expressions of grief.

They hug, right there on the doorstep.

“Kes,” Jyn whispers, pressing her face into his shoulder, her arms tight around his back. “Oh, Kes, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s good to see you, Jyn,” Kes murmurs, his face tight to her neck, even though her raincoat is soaking wet with rain. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” Jyn says, because of course she came.

Kes finally lets her go, opening the door for her to walk inside.

“Before I forget,” he says to her, quietly, as friends and neighbors turn to peer at the new, dripping wet visitor. “What name are you going by these days?”

She laughs, though she understands why Kes is asking. It’s a kind thing to do.

“Jyn Erso is fine,” she says.

“Okay,” Kes says, and if he’s surprised that she’s going by her real name then he doesn’t show it. After the shock of Shara’s diagnosis, Jyn supposes he just doesn’t have any surprise left in him. “If anyone asks, I’m going to introduce you as a friend of ours from the Alliance, yeah?”

“That’s the truth, after all.”

“It’s also probably gonna go down easier than, ‘This is Jyn Erso, she’s a smuggler who also runs an orphanage on Onderon.’”

“As long as you keep the two separate, it’s fine,” Jyn says. “I don’t want people thinking I smuggle _children_.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“You could just say the orphanage part.”

Kes glances at her. “You don’t smuggle anymore?”

“Technically, I still do,” Jyn assures him. “But it’s mostly smuggling things we need for the kids. Anyway, the running the orphanage thing is much more palatable.”

Kes smiles, which Jyn expects is no small feat given the circumstances of her visit. “I’ll tell them you run an orphanage, then. Maybe you’ll find a new benefactor or two here.”

“Or some adoptive parents,” Jyn mutters.

“Yeah, that’d be nice too.”

Kes leads her to the kitchen. Every inch of space is occupied by some dish or food, and for a moment, all Jyn can do is stare.

She’s not sure she’s ever seen this much food in her life.

Vaguely, she remembers that some people bring food in times of mourning.

Shara isn’t dead yet, but it’s clear that everyone is expecting her to go sooner rather than later.

Kes watches Jyn’s face.

“We’re gonna send some food back with you,” he says.

“Oh, Kes, no--”

“I’m serious,” he insists. “You’re gonna stay a few days, and help us eat our way through the kitchen, and then what we don’t eat, you’ll take back to Onderon. For you, and the kids.”

She smiles, and nods. “They’d love that. This all looks delicious.”

“How many kids do you have these days?”

“As of this morning, it was nineteen,” Jyn says, remembering the number Edvar had given her after she’d told him to not expect her at work any time soon.

“Is that a lot?”

“About average.”

Kes whistles, shaking his head. “Kriff. That’s rough, Jyn.”

Jyn looks at him, one eyebrow raised, and Kes sighs.

“I’d just really like to talk about you,” he says. “And your work, and the orphans. Everyone… Everyone’s been asking about me, and Shara, and it’s just… I don’t want to think about _us_ , because we’re a kriffing mess, Erso. I’m just… It’s not good.”

“I expect not,” Jyn agrees.

“And we haven’t seen you in… What, two years?”

“A year and a half.”

“We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

“I suppose we do,” Jyn says.

Kes looks at her for a moment, and nods. “All right. Come on; Shara wants to see you.”

Jyn nods, pulling herself together.

She follows Kes out of the kitchen, and down a long hallway. Jyn looks at the holograms on the wall; she’s seen most of them before, the last time she was here, but a few are newer.

The last hologram at the end of the hall is of Shara, standing in front of her old Alliance A-wing, and Jyn has to look away quickly so as not to cry.

Kes pushes open a door.

It’s Shara and Kes’ bedroom, though Jyn has never been in it before. The lights are dim, minimal, and Jyn has to blink to adjust her eyes to the darkness. When she does, she looks at the bed, and sees Shara.

She looks much the same as she did the last time Jyn saw her.

Her smile is just as bright.

“Jyn,” she calls, and Jyn scurries to her side.

Shara pulls her into a tight hug.

“Is this okay?” Jyn asks, her voice shaking a little. “Can I hug you, or does it… Does it _hurt_ \--”

“Hug me, Jyn,” Shara replies, and Jyn croaks a laugh.

The two women embrace, Jyn half-sprawled on the bed to hug Shara tightly.

“How are you feeling?” Jyn asks, and the two women part. Jyn sits up, Shara moving her legs for her to have space.

“Ugh,” Shara says. “Like I want people to stop asking me that.”

Jyn smiles. “Yeah, I bet it gets old really fast.”

“Did you get a haircut?”

“Um… Six months ago, maybe?” Jyn says, trying to remember. “I try to keep it shorter. Sometimes we get babies at the house, and they pull on my hair.”

“Poe did that a lot,” Shara says, smiling at the memory.

“Kriff, Shara, I am so sorry,” Jyn says suddenly, shaking her head. “This is just so unfair, so ridiculous--”

Shara lifts her shoulders in a _What are you going to do?_ kind of gesture. “I shouldn’t be that surprised. Quannot’s, it’s… My grandmother died from it, and my aunt. It’s weirdly common on Sernpidal, so.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Yeah,” Shara agrees.

“Is it…” Jyn pauses, and glances back at Kes, who is watching the two women with a somber look on his face. “How bad is it, right now? You’re in bed, I--”

“More comfortable in here,” Shara explains. “But I can still walk, and everything. I’ll come out in a bit, but it’s easier for people to come see me in here, for now. And the lights are dim because the painkiller I’m on gives me these wonderful migraines. Ironically.”

Jyn laughs.

“I’m okay, Jyn.”

Jyn nods, and squeezes Shara’s hand.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “It’s so good to see you, Shara.”

“You too, Jyn,” Shara says. “Hey, have you talked--”

She breaks off, as there’s a light knock on the door, and Kes opens it.

Leia Organa stands in the doorway.

Her thick brown hair is arranged in braids tight to her head, and she’s wearing long, flowing, white robes. Her wide brown eyes immediately turn up to Kes.

“Kes,” Leia breathes, and steps to his side. She ignores his proffered hand and throws her arms around him in a tight embrace.

“Milady,” Kes replies, returning the hug.

Leia scoffs. “Don’t give me that nonsense, Kes. It’s Leia, as always.” She steps back, holding onto Kes’ forearms, and smiles up at him. “It’s nice to see you, though I wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Me too, Leia.”

Leia steps past him, and spots Shara, on the bed, and her eyes immediately turn sad.

“Shara,” Leia murmurs, and she darts to Shara’s side, much like Jyn had, and throws her arms around her, a muffled sob escaping her.

Jyn, who’d quickly gotten up upon recognizing Leia’s profile in the doorway, and is now standing closer to Kes, swallows, and looks at the ground.

“Hey Leia,” Shara says, smiling again. “Look at you. Very formal. Very Minister of Defense.”

“I try,” Leia says, smirking.

She looks up, and finally spots Jyn.

“Jyn Erso,” she says, voice a little too loud to be polite, her amazement so profound. “My stars. I haven’t seen you in…”

“A few years, Minister,” Jyn says, though the truth is that it has been more than a few years.

(It’s been four years.)

“Yes,” Leia says. “How have you been?”

“Fine,” Jyn says, shortly, and definitely rudely. She spots Kes’ tense look, reminding her that not only is she speaking to the _Minister of Defense_ , the head of the New Republic Military, but she’s speaking to _Leia kriffing Organa_ , the legendary Alliance leader turned New Republic spearhead and emblem.

But she’s also just Leia, the woman who used to yell at Han Solo in the mess hall on Hoth, the woman who was more or less kidnapped by a tribe of ewoks on Endor, the woman who Jyn would catch scowling up at the male leaders who tried to ignore her due to her size.

She’s _younger_ than Jyn.

“How is your son?” Jyn asks.

She’s never actually met Ben Solo, though she’s heard lots about him. She thinks he must be around five years old now.

Leia’s startled expression softens somewhat. “He’s fine. Training to be a jedi.”

Of course. It makes sense.

Jyn resists the urge to fumble for the kyber crystal at her throat.

“That’s… That’s amazing,” she says, because it is.

Leia nods, though her eyes are dark. “Yes, we… We’re very proud of him.”

“Is Han here, too?”

“He’ll be here next week,” Leia says, glancing at Shara, face apologetic. “He’s caught up with something on Bespin.”

“No rush,” Shara says, agreeably.

“But you’ve been well, Jyn?” Leia asks suddenly, turning back to Jyn. “I heard you’re taking care of war orphans on Onderon. Pretty remarkable work. An admirable cause.”

 _An admirable cause_.

Jyn knows Leia has picked her words with care.

“It’s the one I’ve chosen,” she says, raising her chin, though she and Leia are very close to being the same height and so this doesn’t matter much. “It’s what I really need to be doing, right now. What I choose to work towards.”

“You don’t fight anymore.”

“I didn’t join up with the New Republic Military, no,” Jyn says, gritting her teeth, and she can see Kes shifting uncomfortably at her side. Leia’s face remains blank and impassive. “But you would know that, wouldn’t you, _Minister_.”

“Jyn,” Kes says, quietly, while Shara’s soft brown eyes widen.

“I wasn’t sure,” Leia says, slowly. “I thought maybe you might have joined with an… underground group. On Onderon. Some of Saw Gerrera’s old cohorts.”

Jyn hasn’t hit anyone in a while.

She’s not sure she’s ever wanted to hit anyone more than Leia Organa in this moment.

“Right,” Jyn snaps. “ _You_ thought that.”

“ _Jyn_ ,” Kes hisses, more urgently, and she feels him step closer to her.

“I did,” Leia says, smoothly, face still irritatingly calm and composed in a way that is so familiar to Jyn it makes her ache.

“Not your lackey, or your _handmaiden_ , or whatever the hell he is for you now.”

“Senior Advisor,” Leia says smoothly, ignoring the insults. “And Head of Intelligence for the Outer Rim.”

“Oh good, glad _that’s_ cleared up,” Jyn snarls. “Tell him to kriff off--”

“Jyn!” Kes and Shara exclaim in unison.

“--And stop _tracking me_ , or whatever the hell it is he’s doing,” Jyn continues, barely aware of how she’s stepped into Leia Organa’s space, and barely aware that a man and woman in New Republic Military uniforms are fidgeting and staring at them in the still open doorway, waiting for Jyn to try and attack Leia Organa.

To be fair, she thinks the odds are fifty-fifty, she’s so furious.

Distantly, she knows she isn’t even really mad at _Leia Organa_ , exactly.

“It’s an invasion of my privacy, and _illegal_ ,” Jyn finishes. “Or. It probably is. Either way, he has no right.”

“He’s your husband, Jyn,” Leia returns, voice almost irritatingly gentle, eyes soft, and Jyn hates her a little bit, even though none of this is Leia’s fault.

“In name only,” Jyn says, and she’s definitely had enough. She takes a quick step back, and Leia’s guards relax somewhat.

She looks up at Shara, and then turns to Kes. “I’m going to see Poe.”

“Yeah, good call, he’s out back,” Kes says, still eyeing Leia’s guards, and Jyn sees now that both guards had their hands on their blasters.

Because that’s exactly what Kes and Shara would need. The death of a friend at their home.

“I’ll talk to you later, Shara,” Jyn says quickly, and Shara nods, her eyebrows still raised at how events have unfolded.

Jyn walks away without a farewell to Leia Organa.

She’s sure Leia is already talking to Kes and Shara about her, anyway.

She makes her way through the house, stepping past mourners who now shoot her intrigued looks, gossiping about this stranger who they’d heard _yelling_ at Leia Organa so fearlessly. Leia Organa is beloved to the galaxy, is admired and adored, and Jyn knows snarling at her like she did has ostracized her immediately from a good number of Kes and Shara’s friends.

She isn’t too bothered by this.

She’s never felt like she needs to please anyone.

Kes and Shara’s house backs out into the jungle of Yavin 4. An open meadow begins directly at the back of the house, facing a long line of tall trees, with one tree in particular standing out. The tree is huge, and vibrant, and seems to literally glow in a way that is both natural and terrifying.

Jyn peers through the grass and spots a small boy sitting at the base of the tree.

She makes her way over, walking carefully through the meadow.

As she nears the base of the tree, she hears a voice, one that makes her stop walking.

It’s a man’s voice, accented, and speaking softly.

“… very difficult,” the man says. “But it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be just fine. You will still have your Pa. Your aunts, your uncles. Cousins. So many friends, both kids your age, and friends of your parents.”

“Like you? You’re Ma and Pa’s friend.”

“I like to think I am your friend, too, Poe.”

Jyn closes her eyes for a moment, but she knows, too, that this was inevitable.

She might as well deal with it now.

She takes a breath, and then she emerges through the tall grass.

Cassian is already looking at her, like he’d known she was there the whole time.

And maybe he had.

“Hello, Jyn,” he says.

“Hello, Cassian,” she replies, keeping her voice just as indifferent as his.

Poe, who had been curled up at Cassian’s side, tucked under his arm, scrambles to his feet.

“Jyn!” Poe cries, smiling, and Jyn smiles back at him as Poe darts to her, throwing his arms around her waist.

“Hi, Poe,” she says, hugging him back, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “Look at you. You’re getting so big.”

“You haven’t grown,” Poe tells her, and she laughs.

“No, I haven’t.” She smiles at Poe, and brushes his dark curls, curls identical to Shara’s, out of his face. “I’m very sorry about your mother, Poe.”

Poe nods, biting his lip. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry you have to go through this.”

“Cassian said that your Ma died when you were nine,” Poe says, “And his Ma died when he was ten.”

Jyn’s eyes flicker to Cassian, who’s still sitting at the base of the tree. He stares back at her, face carefully composed and nonchalant, just like Leia Organa’s.

“Yes, that’s right,” Jyn says, turning back to Poe. “It’s the worst club in the galaxy, losing your mother as a child, and you’re going to be a part of it. I wish you weren’t.”

“Yeah,” Poe agrees.

He takes Jyn’s hand, and starts pulling her towards the base of the tree.

“What are we doing?” Jyn asks, unresisting.

“Listening to Ma’s tree,” Poe tells her.

He sits back down next to Cassian, and Jyn presses her back to the surprisingly warm bark of the tree, and slides down to the ground, on Poe’s other side.

“What’s it saying?” She asks, leaning her head against the tree.

“So much,” Poe answers, his eyes closing. He shuffles down a bit, wrapping Jyn’s hand in his, and pressing his face into Cassian’s shoulder.

Cassian adjusts his arm, wrapping it around Poe, while Jyn carefully toes off her boots, noticing how both Poe and Cassian are barefoot, their shoes placed neatly in front of them.

She raises Poe’s hand to her lips, and gently kisses it, squeezing his hand in both of hers.

She turns her head, pressing her cheek to the soothingly warm bark of the tree, and meets Cassian’s eyes.

The years have been kind to him, she thinks. The lines around his eyes are more pronounced than ever, and his beard is a little shorter than she remembers it being. His hair is also a little shorter than it had been, short in the mandatory style of the New Republic Military, but is still quite dark, save for a hint of gray at his temples. But his nose is still crooked, his cheekbones and jawline still sharp, and his eyes are just as big and dark.

He studies her face, and she wonders what he’s thinking of it.

Of the four years since they last saw each other, and how the years have changed them.

His wife, Jyn Erso, now thirty-two years old, a part-time smuggler and full-time caretaker of war orphans on Onderon.

Her husband, Cassian Andor, now thirty-six years old, Senior Advisor to New Republic Minister of Defense Leia Organa, and Head of New Republic Intelligence for the Outer Rim.

He’s dressed in the dark uniform of a New Republic Military officer, and she wonders what his rank is these days. She’s dressed in loose pants and a light blouse, her nicest clothes, the clothes she pulled on this morning in order to come to Yavin 4, to say goodbye to Shara Bey.

She knows she shouldn’t be surprised to see Leia Organa, or Cassian Andor, here.

Cassian goes where Leia goes, but she knows, too, that he would’ve come here anyway, without Leia.

Shara is his friend.

Cassian had been the one to introduce Jyn to Shara, and Kes, back on Hoth, in those weeks after Rogue One, when she only had Cassian to anchor her to the universe, to remind her of what was real.

She doesn’t have him anymore.

She still knows what’s real.

 _I loved you_ , she thinks, looking at Cassian’s aged face here, now, ten years after she first met him.

He looks back at her.

There was once a time where she could read his every look, where she understood him profoundly, where she felt confident she knew him.

But that was the past.

 

* * *

 

**_Five years ago, 5 ABY_ **

The sun is blinding, and Jyn squints, tugging her goggles down over her eyes and adjusting the dark scarf around her face, as the wind whips up sand and dirt.

Next to her, Captain Nalto peers through his quadnocs, at the battle raging over the hill that his team is poised to enter.

“All right,” he grunts, as with a loud whine, an x-wing fighter careens out of the beautiful blue sky overhead and crashes into the dirt, just over a hundred yards away from them. “We got our orders. We know what we have to do.”

“This is it,” Sergeant Blith calls, and the team cracks identical nervous grins.

 _This is it_ , Jyn thinks, smiling behind the scarf.

They’re on Jakku, where the Empire has decided to make its last stand.

The battle has been going on for months now, but the Alliance has been holding its own, and is now set to gain the upperhand, with a last, epic ground assault that Captain Nalto’s team has been ordered to participate in.

There is a chance they could end the battle today.

There is a chance they could end the _war_ today.

Jyn is so ready.

She clutches the kyber crystal hanging around her throat in her hand, and thinks of her ghosts, her mother, her father, Saw, Rogue One, and the assortment of rebels she’s lost in the five years since she joined the Alliance.

She’s been with this particular squad, this squad in the Pathfinders unit, for a year and a half, since Kes resigned from the Alliance with Shara following the Battle of Endor.

She thinks of Kes, and Shara, and their baby boy, Poe, who is barely three years old.

She can make the galaxy a safe place for him.

“This is it,” Nalto confirms. “Half of you are with Lieutenant Erso, half are with me. We’ll be together most of the time, but if I call for a split, know who you’re tagging along with. We don’t want any stragglers in this kriffing desert hellhole.”

No one disagrees with his characterization of Jakku.

“It’s been an honor, and a privilege,” Nalto continues.

“Kriff, Captain, don’t get sappy on us,” Private Komo mutters at the back of the group.

“Shut it, Private,” Nalto snaps, but he’s smiling, and the team does too. “Don’t think of this as the end, all right? Remember what you’re fighting for.”

 _A free galaxy_ , Jyn thinks, _Where children don’t grow up orphans. Where children grow up with families._

“Remember who you’re fighting for.”

 _Poe, and Shara, and Kes_ , Jyn thinks, _Rogue One, Mama, Papa, Saw_.

Cassian, who is already on Jakku.

She focuses.

“Don’t think of this as the end,” Nalto says again, “Think of this as the beginning.”

 _The beginning_.

It is the beginning, and she sprints across the thick yellow sand of Jakku, her squad at her heels, Captain Nalto ahead.

It is the beginning, and she shoots and stabs and punches and throws grenades at Imperial stormtroopers and officers alike, dropping to the dirt as sand blows up, as the clear blue sky overhead becomes polluted with gunfire and smoke and ships dropping out of space, crashing into the sand all around them.

The _Inflictor_ , the Imperial Star Destroyer, is scuttled, and the rebels cheer as it skims the sand, landing with a deafening series of explosions, shaking the very earth.

Eventually, the blasters stop.

The sky clears.

Smoke rises from crashed tie fighters, and destroyed x-wings.

Jyn pants, and breathes, her cheek singed from a blaster shot that almost killed her, her pants torn from landing in the sand at a harsh angle, her knuckles red and blistering from attacking stormtroopers with her bare fists.

 _It’s over_.

Her team has been halved by the battle, but she finds Nalto, and Private Komo, and Private Vapasi, and Sergeant Sapan, and they begin to walk towards the gathered rebel ships.

They are exhausted, sweaty, bloody, and in a state of shock.

 _It’s over_.

Jyn feels herself shaking.

Night falls as they reach the hastily assembled rebel base on Jakku.

Nalto checks them in, requesting he be alerted if any other members of his squad are found alive. He then turns to the other four, to Jyn and Komo and Vapasi and Sapan, and tells them to get something to eat, to drink, and to sleep.

“There will be time for celebration, later,” he says.

 _This is the beginning_.

Jyn steps past him, and approaches the rebel tracking survivors and confirmed dead.

“Major Cassian Andor,” she says, without preamble. “Deputy Head of Intelligence, he was on the ground here. Has he checked in yet?”

“Um…”

“He’s my husband,” Jyn adds, because it’s the truth, and because it’s the kind of thing that tends to get people to tell her where Cassian is, and what he’s doing, she’s learned.

The rebel’s eyes clear somewhat, and she nods in acknowledgment.

“Sorry, Lieutenant Erso, Major Andor has not checked in yet,” she says. “But when he does, I will tell him that you’re here, too.”

Jyn appreciates her optimism.

“Thank you,” she says, knowing there isn’t anything else that can be done, not right now.

Nalto looks at her with sympathy, but she shrugs it off.

“He’ll find me,” she says, confident.

He always does.

She and Vapasi help Komo towards the newly-designated medical tent, Komo barely able to walk due to a blaster shot that’s sending his blood dripping onto the sand of Jakku. Komo towers over both women, but they carry his weight without complaint.

Inside the tent, Vapasi goes to find a doctor, while Jyn helps Komo settle onto a stretcher.

“What do you think, Erso,” Komo grunts, gritting his teeth as Jyn carefully cuts his right pants leg off at the knee, exposing the blistering and bleeding blaster hit that almost took out his knee cap completely. “Are we really done?”

“The Empire’s basically lost its Military,” Jyn says, leaning down to peer closely at the wound. It isn’t life-threatening; with rest, and bacta, Komo will be fine. “I don’t know how they could possibly recover from this.”

Komo nods, staring up at the top of the tent.

“It’s over,” he breathes. “Kriff, I… What the hell am I going to do?”

“I don’t know what you’re going to do, Tom.”

“What about you?” Komo asks, sitting up a little to look at her. “You’ve been fighting this war your whole life.”

“Pretty much,” says Jyn, who is twenty-seven years old, and so tired.

“Gonna run off somewhere with your husband? Have lots of babies?”

Jyn laughs. “I don’t know, Tom. We haven’t really talked about it, what we’d do at the end of the war.”

_The end of the war._

She stills.

_It’s home._

_Lah’mu, and this old house._

_The sea, and the salt, and the man sleeping in the ship outside._

_Home._

_Think of this as the beginning_ , Nalto says, and she realizes he’s right.

The war is over now. They’re done.

They’re _free_.

She looks up, and sees that Komo has passed out, though his loud snoring tells her it’s more from exhaustion than anything else.

She gets to her feet, and makes her way out of the tent.

Jakku has two moons, and both are out in bright display tonight. Jyn peers up at them for a moment, at the way they glow, illuminating the planet, the sand and the small fires the rebels have lit for warmth and cooking. Nights on Jakku are cold, and Jyn tucks her torn jacket in close to her, wrapping the scarf more firmly around her neck, and begins to walk through the rebel camp.

 _It’s over_.

The war is finally over. The Empire is defeated, is done, and the New Republic will rise, spearheaded by leaders Jyn has long trusted and admired, like Mon Mothma, and Leia Organa, and Luke Skywalker. They’ll take care of it. They will create something good, and righteous, the very democratic government the Alliance was founded in memory of, in the hope that it would live again.

 _I’m done_ , Jyn thinks, and she is so relieved.

She wants to go home so badly.

She can _finally go home_.

She thinks of Lah’mu, and the wind, and the salt, and the sea, and her parents’ homestead, the house she and Cassian have been patching up, sporadically, over the last five years, dreaming that they would one day get to live there, to be at peace.

 _We can go_ , she thinks. _We’re done. We can go home_.

She smiles as she walks, and she is so happy.

And then she looks up, and Cassian is there.

Like she conjured him up.

Like he heard her thoughts, her gleeful delight, and knew she needed him.

Jyn wouldn’t be surprised if this was true.

His jacket is covered in blood, and he’s holding it in one hand, his tan shirt dark with smoke, sweat, and dirt. His hair is grimy, covered in a layer of ash, and he has a nasty-looking burn on his right cheek, and a gash on one arm.

But he’s alive, and he’s ten feet in front of her.

She runs to him.

Cassian catches her, dropping his jacket to the sand to do so, and hugs her so tightly he picks her up from the ground.

She laughs, in sheer relief and elation, and she can feel him smiling against her neck.

“You’re okay,” he breathes.

“We’re okay,” she confirms.

They cling to each other, and breathe in sync.

“Cassian,” Jyn whispers, her nose pressed to his shoulder, running her hand through his hair. “Cassian, we’re done. We’re free. It’s over, it’s all over, the war is finally _over_.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he presses his face into her neck, and she can feel his tears on her skin.

“We can go home, Cass,” she whispers. “It’s over.”

He still doesn’t say anything, but his arms tighten around her, and so she takes this as a response.

And in a way, it was.

She will look back on this later and realize that it was this moment, this embrace after the Battle of Jakku, when Cassian realized they would need to say goodbye.

It was this moment that Cassian realized he and Jyn had different definitions for _the end of the war_.

It was this moment that Jyn lost him.

But she doesn’t understand this until years later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, okay.
> 
> (This IS the Sernpidal story.)
> 
> This story has a ridiculously happy ending, so keep that in mind.
> 
> Two main themes: what is "the end", and how does the past come to influence/define the future?
> 
> This story is divided into four parts: Ch. 1-3 are Jyn's perspective, Ch. 4-6 are Cassian, Ch. 7-9 Jyn, Ch. 10-13 are Cassian, and Ch. 14 is the Epilogue. Each part includes two flashbacks.
> 
> Notes:
> 
> -Quannot's Syndrome is an Old EU disease. It is not what Shara Bey died from in canon, but it is in this story. (There's a reason for this choice of illness!)
> 
> -Leia Organa became Minister of Defense in at least one iteration of the Old EU.


	2. Quod perlit, perlit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quod perlit, perlit: What is gone, is gone.
> 
> Or: What has happened, happened, and cannot be changed.
> 
> Or: We should look to the future, and not be pulled in by the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second chapter in Jyn's perspective.

**_Present, 10 ABY_ **

Jyn feels a hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her awake.

“Jyn. Jyn.”

She’d know that voice anywhere, but it hasn’t woken her up in four years.

Her eyes snap open.

Cassian is crouched in front of her, in his dark New Republic Military uniform, his face blank and cautious, his hand lingering on her shoulder.

Night has fallen on Yavin 4, though the tree at her back is still warm, and still glowing.

It’s raining again, too, but the thick and leafy branches of the tree have kept them, and the ground around them, completely dry.

“What time is it?” She asks, blinking her eyes back into focus.

“Midnight,” Cassian says. “We fell asleep.”

She looks to her side, and sees Poe, curled up tight against her, still clutching her hand, and still asleep.

“It’s going to get cold,” Cassian murmurs. “We should go inside.”

“But Poe’s asleep,” Jyn says.

She imagines he hasn’t gotten much sleep since Shara’s diagnosis.

“I’ll carry him,” Cassian says. “I just needed to wake you up first.”

“Right,” Jyn mutters.

Cassian straightens, and holds his hand out to her, but she ignores it, clambering to her feet on her own. She looks at her boots and socks, lined up on the ground where she’d left them, but decides against pulling them on, instead shoving her socks inside and picking up her boots.

Cassian doesn’t say anything to this.

Instead, he bends, and pulls Poe up into his arms.

Poe’s breathing stutters a little, but then he relaxes, leaning into Cassian’s chest, turning his face to Cassian’s shoulder.

“Get his shoes,” Cassian whispers to Jyn, and she nods, and picks up Poe’s shoes from the ground.

She leads the way back through the tall grass towards Kes and Shara’s house.

Lights are still on, though she can tell the house has emptied greatly in the hours since she was last in it.

She holds the backdoor open for Cassian to step through with Poe.

Kes is sitting on the sofa, his arm tight around Shara, with Leia Organa in the chair next to them, along with a handful of people Jyn doesn’t know. A few are definitely with Leia, as evidenced by their New Republic Military uniforms, though others are in civilian clothes, like Jyn. They all look up as Jyn, Cassian, and a sleeping Poe walk inside the house.

“There you are,” Kes says, smiling a little. “We were starting to think you three were going to sleep outside.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time for Poe,” Shara notes.

“We could’ve,” Jyn says. “That tree is warm.”

Leia smiles. “My brother asked Shara to care for the tree, and find a place for it to thrive. It’s force-sensitive.”

“Oh,” Jyn says, though she thinks she should’ve guessed that.

What other kind of tree glows like that, so brilliantly, so independently? What other kind of tree is so warm to the touch, so comforting?

_“What are we doing?” Jyn asks._

_“Listening to Ma’s tree,” Poe tells her._

_“What’s it saying?”_

_“So much.”_

Kes stands up, and goes to Cassian, leaning down a little to run his hand through Poe’s dark curls.

“Let’s get him to bed,” Kes says, and Cassian nods

“Help me up,” Shara insists, and Kes hesitates, face torn.

Jyn has never not followed the orders of someone who is dying.

She goes to Shara’s side, and wraps her arm around her waist, and Shara’s around her shoulders, and carefully pulls the taller woman to her feet. Shara leans heavily on her for a moment, her face twisting in pain, and Jyn waits, nervous.

After a moment, she nods.

“Good?” Jyn asks.

“Good,” Shara breathes. “Thanks, Jyn.”

“This way,” Kes mutters, and Cassian, still holding Poe, follows him down the hall, Jyn and Shara following more slowly.

“Are you in pain?” Jyn asks Shara as they shuffle down the hallway.

Shara grits her teeth. “I’m putting my son to bed.”

Her determination is admirable, is courageous, but it makes Jyn’s chest ache.

She’s pretty sure Shara is declining more rapidly than she’d like to admit.

Poe’s room is located past the kitchen, down the hallway, and faces out towards the tree in the backyard. The ceiling of his room has been painted to look like a miniature map of the galaxy, and Jyn looks up at it in amazement as she and Shara walk inside, smiling at the neatness of it, how the planets are painted different colors.

“Shara’s father painted it for Poe,” Kes says, noticing her awestruck gaze.

“It’s lovely,” Jyn says.

Cassian carefully lowers Poe to the bed. Poe immediately curls up with his pillow, and a stuffed ewok that Jyn imagines Kes and Shara got for him after the Battle of Endor. She watches as Cassian pulls the blanket over Poe, and then leans down, to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Goodnight, Poe,” he murmurs.

He straightens, and immediately moves to Shara, pulling her into a hug.

Jyn realizes Cassian had gone straight to see Poe earlier, while Leia had gone to see Shara, and that this is the first time Cassian has seen Shara since learning that Shara was dying.

“I’m so sorry, Shara,” Cassian murmurs. She and Cassian are closer in height than Jyn and Shara are, and they look a little alike, with similar brown skin and big brown eyes.

 _The Sernpidal eyes_ , Jyn thinks.

“I’m so happy to see you, Cass,” Shara whispers. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” Cassian whispers, and he turns his head to press a kiss to her cheek, his hand rubbing on her back comfortingly.

“I miss your longer hair.”

Cassian laughs. “I think I do, too.”

“Mm. Love you.”

“I love you too, Shara,” Cassian replies, and his eyes flicker to Jyn for a moment, and she sees so much pain, preliminary grief, that she has to look away.

Shara has been Cassian’s friend for longer than she’s been Jyn’s.

Cassian releases Shara a moment later, and goes to Jyn’s side, letting Kes and Shara say goodnight to Poe.

The two of them only stay to watch Kes help Shara to Poe’s bed, to watch Shara lean down to murmur something to her son, her hand brushing his hair gently.

Cassian and Jyn step out into the hallway.

They aren’t part of that family.

They begin to walk back to the others in the living room.

“Jyn,” Cassian says, and she closes her eyes for a moment.

“We don’t have to talk,” she replies.

“We do, though,” Cassian says, and he reaches out and snags her elbow, tugging her to a stop, there in the hallway.

She jerks her arm out of his grasp like she’s been burned.

“About what, Cassian?” She hisses, fighting to keep her voice low, aware of the sleeping boy in the room a few doors away, his dying mother at his side, and the New Republic officials, and mourners in the living room in the opposite direction. She doesn’t want to be overheard by any of them, doesn’t want them to hear the fury and old heartbreak in her voice, doesn’t want _anyone_ to know of it.

Most of all though, she doesn’t want to deal with the man responsible for it.

“ _What_ , Cassian?” She repeats. “Do you want to make the divorce official, is that it?”

Cassian’s eyes close, like the thought saddens him, and she doesn’t understand that, doesn’t get it at all.

“Jyn,” he whispers, eyes still closed.

“Because that’s the only thing we would have to talk about,” she snaps. “If you want the divorce, just say so. I will _gladly_ agree to it. We can go into town first thing in the morning--”

“ _No_ , Jyn, no,” Cassian hisses, his eyes snapping open, his voice rising a little, and she narrows her eyes, reminding him of the other occupants of the house, how they very likely do not want to hear any of their drama.

Though she does think Leia Organa might.

“Then there’s nothing you need from me,” Jyn says, her voice a harsh whisper. “Leave me alone, Cassian. You’re good at that.”

Cassian stares at her, and that hurt is back in his face, and she hates it, she doesn’t understand it, and she’s quite certain she doesn’t deserve it.

She stalks down the hallway before he can say anything else.

The others in the living room are chatting among themselves, drinking wine and tea, and Jyn only spares them all the briefest of glances, aware of Leia Organa’s eyes on her, as she walks into the kitchen, helping herself to some of the comfort food in it.

She hears Kes and Shara walk slowly back into the living room.

Kes appears a few minutes later, and walks to her side.

“You okay?” He asks, softly.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Kes sighs, and then goes to a cabinet, pulling out a bottle of wine, uncorking it. “How long has it been?”

“How long has what been?”

“Don’t play dumb, Jyn, it doesn’t suit you,” Kes says, pouring them each a glass. “How long has it been since you last saw Cassian?”

It’s Jyn’s turn to sigh. She straightens, lowering her fork, and looks down at her half-eaten plate.

“Four years.”

“ _Four_ \--” Kes cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Kriff, Jyn. You definitely should talk to him, then.”

Jyn scowls. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“No one’s. Shara and I are very firmly Team Neutral. We are very fond of you both.” He pauses, and then adds, as if he cannot help himself, “Look, we just want you guys to be happy, and you were both so happy together--”

“That was a long time ago, Kes,” Jyn huffs. “Things change. Things _end_.”

“Why haven’t you gotten that divorce, then?”

Jyn looks up at him.

“Because that would require spending time with him, and I’m not interested in that,” she says.

“Oh, come on, Jyn--”

“I’m sleeping outside tonight,” Jyn announces. “Do you have an extra blanket or two I can use?”

“You don’t have to sleep outside,” Kes says, successfully distracted, for the time being, at least.

“I want to,” Jyn says. “I like your tree.”

And that brings a smile to Kes’ face.

“Shara’s tree,” he corrects. “She and Skywalker went on a mission to find and rescue a couple of force-sensitive tree fragments from an Imperial base on Vetine. He told her to keep a piece, and find a good place to plant it. She picked the backyard.”

“She wasn’t wrong.”

“No, she wasn’t,” Kes agrees. “We love that tree. Poe especially.”

“It’s nice,” Jyn agrees.

“I’ll scrounge up a couple blankets for you.”

“Thanks, Kes.”

Kes nods, and pauses on his way out of the kitchen, turning back to Jyn.

“You don’t have to sleep outside to avoid Cassian,” he says. “He, and Leia, and all her people… They’re staying somewhere in town.”

Jyn smiles, though she knows it’s sad.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with Cassian,” she says, and this is the truth. “I’d really just like to sleep near the tree.”

And Kes smiles back.

“Yeah, that does sound like you,” he agrees. “Thought I’d check, anyway. Let me go find some blankets.”

“Thanks, Kes,” Jyn murmurs, and Kes leaves.

She looks at her mostly eaten plate for a moment, and then shrugs, picks up her glass of wine, and heads back towards the doorway leading into the sitting room.

She stops at Cassian’s name.

“… General Andor?”

“I was most recently on Mon Calamari, ma’am,” Cassian replies, to whatever question was asked by a woman in civilian clothes, a woman Jyn has never met before, either a neighbor or some other friend of Kes and Shara. “A small offset of Imperial sympathizers turned up on Mon Calamari a few months ago, and so the Mon Calamari asked the New Republic Military for soldiers and aid, in their campaign against the Imperials.”

“General Andor is my eyes and ears in the Outer Rim,” Leia Organa says to the woman. “He is very good at his work. He led the Mon Calamari, and his own New Republic soldiers, to a victory.”

The room smiles at Cassian, a few people raising their glasses.

Cassian is standing, his back to Jyn, his hands clasped neatly behind him, standing in that tall, straight-backed posture she knows he learned from his time at the Royal Imperial Academy as a teenager.

Shara is back on the sofa, a mug of tea in her hands, and she’s smiling softly at Cassian.

“Very impressive,” one of the men says, nodding at Cassian in obvious gratitude.

“It’s an honor to serve the New Republic,” Cassian says, which Jyn knows is the closest he will ever get to acknowledging his skill, his long history of service.

“I met General Andor… When, Cassian? Do you remember?”

“You were fifteen, Minister,” Cassian says, and though she can’t see his face, Jyn can tell from his tone that he’s smiling at Leia.

The woman who’d spoken earlier tutts. “ _Fifteen?_ And you can’t call her by her given name?”

“I usually do, ma’am,” Cassian says. “I’m being professional here.”

“It was a number of years ago,” Leia says, and the room laughs at her attempt to obscure her age, even though it is a well-known fact that Leia Organa is twenty-nine years old, and Jyn realizes that Cassian has known her for almost half her life. “And General Andor here was a lowly Captain, twenty-two years old--”

“Lowly,” Cassian repeats, snorting a little.

“The point is,” Leia says, pressing forward, “That General Andor has thirty years of Military experience. He is knowledgeable, and brilliant, and I am proud to work alongside him.”

“You’re making me blush, Leia.”

The room laughs again, and Jyn steps forward a little.

“Sounds like the New Republic is very lucky to have you, _General_ Andor,” Jyn says.

Cassian spins around, startled to see her standing there. Jyn stares back at him, schooling her face into the impassive mask she learned from him.

“Very lucky,” she repeats.

Cassian blinks, mirroring her own impassive mask, and doesn’t look away from her. “If you say so.”

“This is Jyn Erso,” Leia says to the room, and Jyn takes a couple steps forward, to stand next to Cassian, unsure as to why she’s doing this, inviting the scrutiny of a roomful of people who clearly adore diplomatic and legendary Leia Organa, and impressive and decorated Military man Cassian Andor, her longtime friend and advisor. “She runs an orphanage for war orphans on Onderon.”

Everyone in the room smiles at Jyn, and she nods at their soft words of awe, and reverence.

She knows it sounds impressive, taking in war orphans.

“Difficult work,” says the unknown woman.

“It’s necessary,” Jyn says, rolling her shoulders in a shrug.

“Still, quite difficult.”

“Remarkable,” someone else adds.

“The children are very lucky to have you,” Cassian murmurs at her side.

She turns her head, meeting his gaze again, and for a moment, it’s like there’s no one else in the room.

It’s like it’s just Cassian, looking at her like he used to.

Like he loves her.

Like she’s everything he’s ever wanted.

Like she’s all he could ever need.

That last thought shakes her, reminds her of the reality.

She’s not something Cassian has ever _needed_.

She was something he wanted, certainly; but he never needed her enough to try and keep her.

They haven’t been parallel lines for four years, but she thinks it’s particularly striking, now, with her in her civilian clothes, and Cassian in his New Republic Military officer’s uniform.

Kes chooses this moment to return, a couple blankets clutched in his arms.

“Got you covered, Jyn,” he says, abruptly quieting when he sees Cassian and Jyn staring at each other, and the rest of the room watching them in expressions ranging from amusement (Leia) and exasperation (Shara) to confusion, and curiosity, from the other onlookers.

Jyn looks away from Cassian.

“Thanks, Kes,” she says, setting her glass down to take the blankets from him.

“You’re sleeping outside, Jyn?” Leia gathers, a smile dancing on her face.

“There’s a great tree out back,” Jyn says, and the room laughs, though she’s being serious.

“I’m not staying here,” Cassian says, quickly. “Please don’t feel like you have to do this, to--”

“Believe it or not, you didn’t even factor into this,” Jyn snaps back, quietly, fighting to keep her face looking polite.

Shara gives the softest of sighs.

“Nah, Jyn and I camped outside in much worse conditions than this,” Kes grins, wrapping an arm around Jyn’s shoulders in a hug. He turns to the group, and clarifies, “Jyn was with my squad, the Pathfinders, in the Rebel Alliance.”

There’s a murmur of appreciation, and Jyn is sure more than one guest finally understands why she’s here at all.

“Sometimes, I swear I can still hear your snoring,” Jyn says.

“Yours too, Erso,” Kes replies, without missing a beat, and Jyn laughs.

“You don’t fight anymore, Miss Erso?” One of the guests asks Jyn.

Leia, Kes, Shara, and Cassian all look at her, their expressions varying.

Leia, curiosity.

Kes and Shara, quiet understanding.

And Cassian… A mystery.

She knows where he stands with her, though. What he thinks of her.

“No. Now, I only fight children on eating their vegetables,” she says, and the room chuckles.

She nods her head, holding the blankets in her arms. “It was nice meeting you all,” she says, though she has not really met any of them, and she really doubts it’d be nice to. “I’m going to make camp in the backyard.”

They laugh again, and Jyn walks over to Shara on the couch, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Plan on it,” Shara says, grinning.

Jyn grins back, and nods, before turning towards the backdoor.

Footsteps come up behind her, a pace she’d recognize anywhere.

“I’ll walk you out,” Cassian says.

“You really, really do not have to do that,” Jyn says, as Cassian opens the backdoor, holding it for her to pass through.

“I’d like to say goodnight to my wife,” Cassian replies, his voice rising a little at the end of his sentence, and Jyn is sure the room behind them has heard him.

She waits until the door has closed before turning on him.

It’s pouring outside now, and so they linger on the doorstep, sheltered by the roof.

“You didn’t have to say that.”

“Say what?”

Jyn rolls her eyes, staring up at him. Cassian towers above her, as he’d put his boots back on before carrying Poe, while Jyn never bothered putting her own boots back on.

“That you wanted to say goodnight to your _wife_ ,” Jyn clarifies, and she turns, and begins trudging through the yard, Cassian a shadow at her side in his dark uniform.

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

Her scowl deepens, and she tucks the blankets close to her chest to try and keep them dry. “I’d hate for you to try to explain us to that roomful of soldiers and neighbors and mourners.”

“Leia’s people already know,” Cassian says, quietly. “And I don’t care what anyone thinks.”

“I thought you were being _professional_.”

“I have a history of being unprofessional around you, love.”

“Stop that,” Jyn snaps.

“Stop _what?_ ”

“You never called me _love_ even when we were together,” Jyn says, gritting her teeth. “Don’t you start with that nonsense now.”

“Is there another word you’d prefer?”

Jyn has had enough.

She breaks into a run, sprinting to the force-sensitive tree.

It might be petty, it might be childish, but it’s also pouring.

And she thinks Cassian is being petty and childish too, so.

She can’t hear him behind her over the sound of the heavy rain, but she knows he’s following her.

She reaches the tree, and drops the blankets on the dry grass under the tree with little care, and turns, her hands clutched in fists at her sides.

The house is a good fifty yards away, the lights from inside not reaching them, and so she can’t see Cassian’s face very well.

“Why are you doing this?” She asks, and her voice is low, and devoid of any emotion, anger or scorn, and Cassian stills at this sudden change in tone. “Just… Why are you doing this? _Acting_ like this, like some, some… Smug, political, New Republic representative. I don’t like it, and I need you to either stop it, and be honest with me, or for you to kriff off and leave me alone.”

Her words from earlier seem to hang in the quiet, rain-filled outside air around them.

 _You’re good at that_.

“Whatever you want from me, just _say it_ ,” she says, keeping her eyes down, avoiding his, because she’s worried that if she has to look at him she’ll break, and he’ll see everything in her. “If you want a divorce, I will give you one. But I just… I don’t deserve this shit from you. I don’t deserve you teasing me, to have you walking around me with this Military swagger, to have you pretending to be… nice to me when we both know you really kriffing hate me. But I’m not sure you’re even really being _nice_ to me, a better word would probably be derisive. You’re behaving like you’re above me, like you’re… like you’re the wronged party here, and I really don’t deserve this, because we both know you are not the wronged one.”

“Jyn,” Cassian whispers, and she blinks, because that sounds more like the Cassian she used to know.

“Say whatever you came out here to say,” she says.

“Jyn. Please look at me.”

She exhales sharply, and gathers herself together, and then lifts her head, to look up into Cassian’s face.

He looks devastated, and it makes her immediately wish she hadn’t looked up.

“I don’t hate you, Jyn,” Cassian murmurs.

“I hate you,” Jyn whispers.

He nods. “I know. I told you that was fine, and I still stand by that.”

_“You can hate me, if that makes things easier. That’s fine.”_

_“I_ should _hate you, Cassian.”_

_“I know. It’s fine.”_

“It’s been four years,” Jyn whispers, and her voice breaks.

“Four years, three months, and seventeen days,” Cassian says, and she stares. He shrugs, smiling a little. “I remember. I have a good memory.”

“Our anniversary was two weeks ago,” Jyn says, and this reminds Cassian that she has a good memory, too.

“Mm-hmm. Six years.”

“Do you regret it?”

He looks at her. “Never, Jyn. Never.”

“I do,” Jyn whispers, and he nods.

“I don’t blame you. It… We… It’s been hard.”

“You left me,” she says, and though there is no violence in her voice, no accusation, Cassian still winces like she’s struck him. “So why won’t you just _end_ it?”

“Why don’t you?” Cassian asks, and she knows this is a fair question.

Kes had asked her earlier, but she hadn’t given him the truthful answer then.

She gives it to Cassian now.

“Because I want to know when you’re dead,” she says.

A short silence falls, save for the pouring rain around them.

Cassian snorts, shaking his head, and turning away from her. “Kriff, Jyn. You really do hate me.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Jyn says, hurriedly. “I mean… I can let you go, then. When you’re definitely gone. When you’re definitely not coming back. Not coming back to me.”

Cassian stills, one hand pressed to his mouth, not looking at her, and Jyn doesn’t want for his response.

“I’m still your wife, still your emergency contact in your Military records,” she continues. “Leia will have to tell me when you’re dead.” She shrugs. “Someone has to claim your body, and bury you on Fest, and I once promised you that I would. It’s not a promise I’ve ever considered breaking. Even if I do… hate you.”

Slowly, he turns back to her.

“Jyn,” he breathes.

“Don’t,” she advises him. “Don’t. I… I know how important it is to you, to be buried with your family on Fest. And, technically… _I_ am your family. Legally, anyway. It… It should be me. I should be the one, to… To bury you. If I’m still alive, I will. As long as I’m your wife.”

“Jyn--”

“You’re still fighting,” she continues, and she lifts her head, and so Cassian looks at the ground, unwilling to meet her eyes. “In there, you were talking about fighting on Mon Calamari. You oversee battles all the time, don’t you? Still at the front lines; because you’ve never liked letting anyone fight for you.”

“Yes,” he confirms.

“You’ll die with your soldiers.”

He closes his eyes. “Jyn.”

“You made your choice,” Jyn continues, and for the first time, her voice wavers with emotion. She powers on.

“You made your choice, and I’ve accepted it,” she says. “It’s not… I can’t say it’s fine, or that it’s okay. Because it’s not, Cassian. It never was. But it’s the choice you made, and not accepting it would result in me… I’d go mad with it. So I’ve accepted it. And that means accepting that I might have to take your corpse to Fest sooner rather than later. And I can do that. Because Leia will know to call me, and tell me.”

Cassian doesn’t speak for a moment, his eyes closed, and Jyn sees his hands are in fists at his sides, mirroring her own stance.

“I told you,” he whispers. “Before we even got married, I told you that I would… That I would put the cause before you, one day. That the cause is everything to me, is my number one priority. I grew up in the war, and the cause. It’s who I _am_. You said that was okay.”

And Jyn laughs.

“And it was,” she says. “But this isn’t the cause, Cassian. The war is _over_. You’re _done_. You could be _done_.”

He opens his eyes, shaking his head.

“There are still Imperials out there,” he says, voice rising from the soft voice he’d been speaking to her in. “Still people trying to resurrect the Empire. They’re attacking cities and planets in the Outer Rim, the people in these systems need the New Republic to help--”

“But the Empire is still _dead_ , Cassian,” Jyn says. “The Emperor is dead, Vader is dead, and the Imperial Military has been demolished. Everyone left is a run-of-the-mill lunatic, and they can’t actually bring the Empire back. Not as it was. You’re fighting a whole new war, Cassian, and _that_ was not something we agreed on. Not something I signed up for.”

“You decided not to sign up for the New Republic Military--”

“Because this _isn’t my war_ ,” Jyn says, and she’s finally yelling now. “This isn’t the war Saw fought for, the war my mother died in, the war Rogue One fought in! I did enough, Cassian, I helped end the Empire, and that is enough. But it’s not enough for _you_.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Cassian says, yelling right back at her. “I’m not done, Jyn, not when there are still Imperial sympathizers out there--”

“There are _always_ going to be Imperial sympathizers out there--”

“Then I’m never going to be done--”

“You _aren’t!_ ” Jyn screams. “You are never going to be done, Cassian! That’s exactly it! You let me believe there was going to be a time when you would be done, and that time was going to be when the war was over! You let me think there was going to be a time where we could go home, the two of us, where we could be happy, and at peace! And then you signed up for the New Republic Military, and you _left me_! You gave me _hope_ , Cassian, and then you took it away.”

Silence falls, following this speech from Jyn.

The rain is suddenly so loud.

Cassian swallows, and even in the dim light from the other moons above them, and Yavin itself, and the force-sensitive tree next to them, Jyn can see his eyes are watery, and that there are tears on his face.

She’s shaking, and panting, and she’s crying, too.

“Jyn,” Cassian whispers, and he takes a step towards her, but she shakes her head, backing away.

“Don’t,” she croaks. “I can’t keep having this argument with you, Cassian. I can’t keep doing this. Nothing ever changes. You’re still fighting your war, your very personal war, and I… I don’t do that anymore. I can’t. I’m done.”

“And that’s exactly it, isn’t it,” Cassian says, quietly. “I did leave you. I won’t deny that. But Jyn, you left me first.”

And this derails her, because it makes no sense.

She shakes her head.

“No, you walked out,” she says, and she doesn’t sound angry or upset anymore, only confused. “You packed your things, and you left that night, and you didn’t come back. I remember it very well, Cassian.”

Cassian grimaces, but there’s a sheen in his eyes, something alight with pain.

“I remember it, too,” Cassian says. “But you left me the day you decided to leave the Alliance. To not follow it into the New Republic. You left when you gave up the cause.”

Jyn stares.

She knows what he’s getting at.

_“Yeah. Because I know you.”_

_Cassian looks at her, and she sees the question in his eyes._

_“You think you don’t have morals, but you do,” Jyn says. “It’s the Rebellion. That’s where your morality is, for better or worse. You put the Rebellion before anything else. It’s your constant, it’s where you’ve always lived. Not Fest, or Coruscant, or Corellia; those were just… landscapes. A place to sleep. The Rebellion has always been your home, and everything I could ever need to know about you… It’s all there. That’s who you are.”_

“You are not the war, Cassian,” she says now.

“I am, though,” he says. “I’ve never been anything else, or had anything else. I’ve told you a million times, the cause is who I am. I don’t exist outside it.”

“That just isn’t true,” she says, and some of her anger returns, because Cassian has never seen himself correctly, has never seen what she sees.

Cassian shakes his head, looking so sad, so sorry, and she’s so angry.

“You left the war, and I left you,” he says. “I followed the war. I think that answers that question.”

By that, he means, _You left the cause, and that means me, too._

She swallows. “Are you… Do you _blame_ me--”

“Of course not,” he says, quickly. “I don’t blame you for what happened to us. We… It just…”

He sighs, his shoulders sagging a little, and Jyn knows that while she can’t keep having this same argument, that Cassian has envisioned it a million times, and not reached any other outcome.

He’s returned to the question of what went wrong, like she has, and come to the same conclusion:

They each made a choice. And their choices were incompatible.

 _I did not leave_ you, Jyn thinks, but she has no way of showing him the difference. She’d tried to, for years, and failed every time.

Cassian’s voice interrupts her frustration.

“You’re taking care of war orphans on Onderon.”

“Children,” Jyn says. “The war ruined their lives. Like it ruined mine. Beginning when I was a child, and… And it’s still just… _Taking_ from me. I understand them.”

“You didn’t go home,” Cassian whispers. “You didn’t go to Lah’mu.”

She laughs, though her laugh is bitter.

“No,” she says. “I couldn’t. It wasn’t home. Not without my family there.”

She looks at him, and he understands that she means him.

“Oh, Jyn,” Cassian says, and his voice is painfully soft, and she can still see the tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“You made your choice,” Jyn repeats. “And I’ve accepted it.”

“If you’d just… If you’d just let me go--”

“I’ve tried that, Cassian,” she snaps. “And I can’t. Because I’m stupid enough to think you might come back to me someday. If you survive another kriffing war.”

“If I asked for a divorce, would you let me go? Would you feel like you could go home?”

Jyn freezes, and looks up at him.

Cassian breathes, shakily.

“I hate that I’ve done this to you,” he murmurs. “That you have to put your peace on hold like this. I want you to be happy, Jyn. Kriff, I want that. You deserve it, more than anyone else I know. I’m not going to stop fighting, Jyn. I never have, and I never will. I’m going to die on a battlefield someday. Sooner rather than later, probably. I’m…” He swallows, shaking his head. “And you won’t fight the war anymore. You won’t get near it. And that means you won’t get near me, too. So you, and me… We’re done.”

“Cassian,” Jyn whispers.

“If you’re curious, if you want to know when I’m dead, Leia will call you,” Cassian says, firmly. “I can ask her to do that, for me. It doesn’t matter if you’re my wife or not. She’ll do this one last request for me. And if you’d like, you can bury me on Fest. But only if you want to. Not out of any sort of obligation.” He looks up at Jyn. “You don’t owe me anything, Jyn. Not a damn thing.”

“ _Cassian_.”

“Jyn,” Cassian says, calmly.

They stare at each other, and Jyn wonders what she looks like.

If she looks as shocked and horrified as she feels. As devastated, and lost.

Cassian searches her face, and she waits.

He comes to a conclusion. He nods.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Jyn, I want a divorce.”

“No, you don’t,” Jyn whispers, automatically.

“I do,” Cassian says, and his voice is firm, and uncompromising.

“You only do because you think that it’s what I need to move on--”

“And it _is_ ,” Cassian snaps. “It is, and that’s fine. You clearly need to never see me again, and a divorce will help with that. I want you to move on, and find someone else, and I want you to go home. Because I’m not stopping, Jyn. I will die in this war, and I’m okay with that.”

“Gods, you’re such a damn martyr,” Jyn groans. “You never kriffing stop, and sometimes I just…”

Cassian smiles.

“You can hate me, Jyn,” he says, once again, like he did four years ago, when he left. “If it makes things easier. It’s fine.” He adds, “I deserve to be hated by you, for everything I’ve done to you. For taking hope away from you. That is especially cruel of me.”

“Cassian,” Jyn whispers.

She stops as Cassian unzips his Military jacket, shrugging it off, and letting it drop to the jungle ground. She stares, bewildered, as Cassian reaches for his neck.

Her breath catches when he pulls a kyber crystal necklace out from under his shirt.

Her kyber crystal necklace.

The one Lyra Erso gave her, all those years ago.

The one she gave to Cassian six years ago, as a wedding gift.

When they were still in the thick of war, when they believed they might die without the other.

 _“So you’ll still have me, there, if the end comes without me,” Jyn says, and Cassian, amazed and humbled, lowers his head for her to tie the necklace around his neck_.

Instinctively, she reaches for the near-identical one she wears.

Cassian had gotten it for her, four weeks later, when the Alliance had sent him to Ilum, on a reconnaissance mission to see what the Empire was doing with the depleted kyber mines on the planet. She hasn’t taken it off since.

The kyber crystal necklaces tie them to each other. They’re a tangible thing that binds them, when their marriage can feel so abstract, and absent.

She stares as Cassian pulls the necklace off.

He walks up to her, and she feels like her legs have frozen to the earth, for she can’t move, not even as Cassian takes her hand, opening it up, and drops the kyber crystal necklace into her palm, folding her fingers neatly around it.

“You should have this back,” he says, quietly. “I’ve treasured it, and been grateful for it, but… It always belonged to you, Jyn. It’s always been yours, like it was your mother’s.”

The crystal is warm in her hand, and she isn’t sure if it’s because of the proximity of the similarly force-sensitive tree, or if it’s because it was resting on Cassian’s skin, close to his heart.

She thinks of how Cassian used to be hers, too.

“ _Cass_ ,” she whispers, and she breaks.

She begins to sob.

Cassian steps closer, and this time, she doesn’t resist, or yell at him.

She lets him pull her into his arms.

He holds her tightly, resting his chin on her head, tucking her in tight to his chest, and the embrace is so familiar, and so foreign, and Jyn can only sob, one hand clutching his shirt, the other holding her mother’s kyber crystal.

“I’m so sorry, Jyn,” Cassian whispers, and she can feel his heart beating quickly, and his breath stuttering, and she knows he’s crying, too.

His lips press to her head, and she closes her eyes.

“If I’m letting you go, you let me go too, okay,” she whispers into his shirt.

“I’ll try,” he says.

“You know, find some… some similarly minded New Republic worshipping, Military devotee,” Jyn says, and Cassian’s breath shakes in an approximation of a laugh.

“We’ll see,” he says.

“Tell Leia to tell me… If… When…” She shakes her head, unable to finish the sentence.

 _Tell Leia to tell me when you die_.

“I will,” Cassian promises. “She will.”

“I don’t think she likes me much.”

“She does,” Cassian says. “She just doesn’t like how I haven’t moved on from you. She thinks I’m sad.”

“You’re always sad,” Jyn says, confused.

Cassian’s lips twist into a smile against her forehead. “Yeah, I know. She hasn’t figured that out yet. But I am sad about you, too. Of course I am. I’m sad we ended the way we did.”

“You can hate me, if that makes things easier,” Jyn says, and Cassian is already shaking his head.

“I really couldn’t, Jyn. I really couldn’t. Not you. I know you don’t believe me, and you really shouldn’t, it’s completely understandable, since I… since I left you, and I broke so many promises I made to you, but I… I do love you. Still. Always will.”

She closes her eyes.

 _I loved you_ , she thinks, and she’s terrified that she still does.

 _Let go_.

It’s never been easy for her.

“I’ll take you home to Fest, and bury you there,” she says, and it’s the best she can do.

It tells him that she doesn’t actually hate him.

Cassian gathers as much. He nods.

“Thank you, Jyn,” he says. “And I’m sorry for being… derisive towards you, earlier. I didn’t want to be. I just… I wanted you to look at me, and talk to me, so badly, and I thought the best way to get your attention would be to encourage you to yell at me.”

She laughs a little, but she can’t deny his logic. She keeps her face pressed to his chest, her eyes closed.

Cassian’s hands run through her hair, comforting.

She turns her head, opening her eyes, resting her chin on his chest, and looks up at him.

He smiles down at her, that soft smile he always reserved for her, and only her.

She stretches up on her toes, and she kisses him.

He stills, obviously surprised, and she backs down.

He stares at her.

“I just…” She shrugs, and she knows she must look a mess, her eyes red and watery. “If this is going to be the last time I see you, I just… I wanted to kiss you again.”

“A last kiss,” Cassian summarizes, and she nods.

He nods back.

This last kiss, he leans down and kisses her.

This last kiss, she is not hesitant. She runs a hand through his short hair, and wraps her other arm around his waist.

This last kiss, he bends to her level, one hand brushing her neck, the other pressed to her back, pulling her as tight to him as possible.

This last kiss, she shrugs out of her coat, and he backs her up against the glowing tree, reaching for her blouse.

This last kiss, she drops her old kyber crystal necklace to the grass.

This last kiss turns into another, and another, and another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the saddest chapter of the story (in my opinion) so if you've made it through this, you're golden.
> 
> This story has a happy ending, and Jyn and Cassian are endgame. It might take them a while to get there, but they do/will.
> 
> Shara Bey and Luke Skywalker rescuing force-sensitive trees appears in current EU canon comics.
> 
> The Battle of Calamari, mentioned by Cassian, was an Old EU battle.
> 
> There are italicized quotes in this chapter from YOU MUST REMEMBER THIS, and also from past events that will be visited later in this story.


	3. In inceptum finis est

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In inceptum finis est: in the beginning is the end.
> 
> Or: the beginning foreshadows the end.

_**Present, 10 ABY** _

Jyn is unsurprised to wake alone the next morning.

She’s curled under the blankets from Kes, but her bare arms are prickled with the early morning chill. She sits up, and looks up at the softly glowing tree she’d been sleeping under, now a hazy blue with the light from the sunrise.

She looks back down, and realizes she’d fallen asleep on Cassian’s jacket.

She adjusts her clothes, and then she gets to her feet.

The grass around the tree is damp with morning dew, and she carefully folds up the blankets, listening to the soft chirps of birds from the jungle, the quiet wind that breezes through the branches of the tree, sending a shiver down her spine.

She looks at the ground, and spots the kyber crystal necklace, the one worn by Lyra, and then by Jyn, and then by Cassian. It looks dimmer than she remembers it looking, like its translucence has increased, making it more solid, though she doesn’t think this is possible.

Jyn scoops it up, and shoves it in her pocket.

She picks up Cassian’s jacket last, carefully putting it on top of her stack of blankets.

She walks back through the grass towards the house.

The door has been, thankfully, left unlocked for her, and she slips inside.

“Good morning, Jyn.”

Jyn jumps a foot into the air, more or less, her heart threatening to exit her chest.

“ _Kriff_ , Kes,” she gasps, the blankets and jacket a messy pile on the floor now.

Kes laughs, looking up at her from his place on the sofa, a cup of coffee in one hand, a datapad in the other. The holonet is on, offering a list of news stories, and there are still dishes and plates from the day before scattered around.

He gets to his feet, and helps her gather up the blankets.

“Where’s Shara?” Jyn asks.

“Still asleep,” Kes says. “Those meds really knock her out, I’m kind of jealous.”

“Right.”

“So, you had a good night.”

“Smooth segue.”

“That’s not a denial.”

She sighs, in resignation. “When did Cassian come back in?”

“About an hour ago,” Kes says. “He tends to wake with the sunrise, as you might recall.”

She shoots Kes a dirty look, and he laughs again.

“Anyway, I was awake, too,” Kes continues. “Unlike my wife, I, uh, haven’t slept super great since… Well. Since. It was almost worth not sleeping well to catch the horrified and guilty look on Cassian’s face when he saw me, though.”

“I’m sure,” Jyn mutters.

“You know, Poe’s room features a very large window looking out at that tree.”

“The house is, like, fifty yards away. And the grass is _really tall_.”

“Yeah, lucky for you two. Kriff,” Kes snorts. “At least this is going to make Shara laugh.”

Jyn straightens, folding Cassian’s jacket over her arms. “Cassian left to check in with Leia, I assume.”

“Yeah,” Kes confirms.

“They’re staying in town? For how long?”

“Only for today,” Kes says. “Leia is a busy woman.”

Jyn nods. “Okay. I’m going to change, and then I’m going to find Cassian.”

“ _Really?_ Holy mother of meteors, you guys really did work things out last night--”

“No, no,” Jyn says, quickly, before Kes can say anything more ridiculous. “No. We’re getting divorced.”

“Are you _kidding me?_ ”

 

* * *

 

There is only one inn located in the town near Kes and Shara’s house, which is good news for Jyn, as it doesn’t take her long to track down the rooms where Leia Organa, and her entourage, are staying.

She is held-up at the front desk, when she asks for these room numbers.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the concierge, a Twi’lek woman, tells Jyn. “That’s confidential.”

Jyn realizes she probably shouldn’t have led with Leia’s name.

“Cassian Andor, then,” she tries. “I know he’s staying here, and I need to see him.”

The concierge still shows signs of hesitation, so Jyn sighs, and adds, “He’s my husband.”

_For another hour, or two._

The Twi’lek’s blue eyes clear a little, and she nods, listing off a room number.

“Great, thanks,” Jyn says, offering an approximation of a smile, and then walking away quickly.

She takes the stairs up, and she thinks it’s a mark of her personal growth in that she doesn’t shove people out of her way, but rather, steps to the side and lets others pass around her. The old Jyn Erso’s default state was fury, and she took it out on anyone and everyone, friend, foe, and complete stranger. The current Jyn Erso is more aware of herself, and others, and knows she doesn’t have to fight.

She’s done with it, in every sense.

She reaches the door with the number given to her by the front desk, and knocks.

It’s opened by Leia Organa.

She and Jyn stare at each other.

“Guess she gave me your room after all,” Jyn says, in lieu of any other greeting.

Leia rolls her eyes.

“No, this is your _husband’s_ room,” she says, and the way she emphasizes the word makes Jyn nervous, and she wonders how much Cassian has told her.

Cassian chooses that moment to appear, all but elbowing Leia out of the doorframe.

“Hi, Jyn,” he says.

She holds up his jacket. “You forgot something.”

Leia smirks.

Cassian grabs the jacket from her, and Jyn is treated to a faint blush rising up his neck. He’s dressed more casually today, in civilian clothes, though the jacket he’s currently wearing has the New Republic emblem on a left side pocket, just above his heart.

“Thanks,” he mutters.

“Are you ready?” Jyn asks.

“Yeah,” Cassian says, turning quickly, and tossing the jacket over a chair in his room. He has to work to close the door, as Leia Organa hovers in the doorway. Her smirk has disappeared, and she almost looks… pissed off.

“You’re not _seriously_ going through with this, are you?” She demands, hands on her hips.

“I’ll be back in an hour or so,” Cassian says, ignoring her question. “And then we’ll go back to the house to say… goodbye, to everyone, and then we’ll head back to Chandrila, yeah?”

Leia huffs, eyes blazing, and turns to Jyn.

“You’re letting him get away? _Really?_ ”

“What the hell,” Jyn mutters, more bewildered than anything else.

She blinks, and remembers some of her and Cassian’s words from the night before.

_“I don’t think she likes me much.”_

_“She does,” Cassian says. “She just doesn’t like how I haven’t moved on from you. She thinks I’m sad.”_

“We’re moving on,” Jyn says now, to Leia. “Both of us. I thought you’d be happy about that.”

Leia snorts. “Like Cassian is ever going to get over you.”

“Why is she like this,” Cassian mutters, in Festian, and Jyn wonders if he’s forgotten she can also understand and speak Festian, or if he intended for Jyn to hear and understand him.

Or maybe he’s just completely done with everything; this seems just as likely, she thinks.

“I don’t know,” she says, also in Festian, and Cassian startles a little, turning to look at her as they walk, Leia loudly stomping behind them in the narrow hallway. “But maybe if we run, we can lose her. She’s wearing a long skirt.”

Cassian laughs.

“You’re both very cute, speaking a language you _know_ I can’t understand--”

“That would be the allure of it,” Cassian says, in Basic again, glancing back at Leia.

“Excuse me for trying to look out for you, Cassian--”

“You’re not my keeper, Leia,” Cassian says, glancing back at her again but still refusing to stop, as he and Jyn walk towards the stairs, Leia on their heels. “If anything, I’m _your_ keeper, I work for you--”

“You’re letting the _love of your life_ go, like some kriffing _moron_ \--”

Jyn sighs.

She doesn’t want to hear Leia call her the love of Cassian’s life, because she knows it isn’t true. If anything, the love of Cassian’s life is war.

Jyn doesn’t fight anymore.

But she can still confront.

She turns on her heel, and Leia all but runs right into her.

“Stop, please,” Jyn says, shaking her head, and she sees Leia’s eyebrows rise, probably in surprise at how calm Jyn sounds.

Jyn can’t see Cassian behind her, but she knows he’s also stopped.

“We’re adults, and we’ve made a decision,” Jyn continues. “And I know you respect Cassian, so you should respect his choices, too. So, please, just… back off.”

Leia looks at Jyn, her face once again that smooth diplomatic mask Jyn has seen her wear so often. Jyn waits, her chin raised, unflinching.

After a moment of staring, Leia nods.

“You have changed, Jyn Erso,” she says.

“I know,” Jyn says.

 _That’s kind of the whole kriffing problem_ , she thinks.

“You do need me, though,” Leia suddenly adds.

“What? Why?” Cassian demands, and his voice sounds a little hoarse, though Jyn can’t imagine why.

“You need a witness for a divorce,” Leia explains. “Just like you did when you got married.”

“Oh,” Cassian says, and Jyn nods.

“Fine,” she says. “Let’s go.”

This time, Leia is quiet as she follows Cassian and Jyn out of the inn.

 

* * *

 

**_Six years earlier, 4 ABY_ **

“Here, here, I’ve got it,” Leia calls, walking into the room, carrying in her arms a long, thin, white skirt.

She reaches Jyn, juggling the skirt in her arms, managing to keep the end of skirt off the ground, with the aid of her slightly rounded pregnant belly.

“Knew it was still on the _Falcon_ somewhere,” Leia says, grinning.

Jyn frowns at the skirt. “But it’s so _long_.”

“But pretty,” Shara adds, peering over Jyn to get a better look.

“Why can’t I wear pants, again?” Jyn asks.

“Because on Alderaan, we wear _white_ on our wedding day, and this is the only white item of clothing I have with me, since _some people_ decided a day ago that they were going to get married, like right away,” Leia says. “And you so kindly agreed to honor a tradition of my people, since there are so few of us left, and since it makes me happy.”

Jyn narrows her eyes at Leia.

“You just want me to wear a skirt.”

“It would delight Cassian,” Leia insists, neither confirming nor denying Jyn’s accusation. “And don’t you want to make him happy?”

“I’m marrying him, am I not already--”

“Wear the damn skirt, Jyn,” Shara interjects. “You’ll look great.”

Jyn takes the skirt from Leia.

“For Alderaan,” she says, skepticism in her voice.

She doesn’t have anyone else from Alderaan to confirm this tradition with.

“The white will look nice with the flowers in your hair,” Shara says, not looking up from where she’s weaving dark blue flowers into Jyn’s hair, neatly braided, and tied up on her head.

The flowers in the bride’s hair are, according to Shara, a Sernpidal tradition.

Jyn trusts Shara more on this than she does Leia.

She also does kind of like how they look.

“Did you see Cassian?” She asks Leia.

“Yes, yes, he’s fine, all set,” Leia says, dropping into a chair, running a hand over her belly. The humidity from the air outside is seeping into the room, and all three women are sweating, though none more than Leia, though Shara and Jyn would never point this out. “I ran into Han raiding his cache of Corellian whiskey on the _Falcon_ , so you all have that to look forward to.”

“What kind of Corellian whiskey?”

“The good stuff,” Leia says, scowling, because she hasn’t had a drink in three months.

Shara laughs.

“You’re all set here, Jyn,” she says, stepping back, brushing bits of leaves off her palms. “Get dressed.”

“Do you have a shirt to wear with that?” Leia asks.

For a moment, Jyn wonders how Leia Organa, rebel, hero, military leader, is also the most fashion-conscious person she knows.

In the next moment, she remembers Leia was born into royalty.

“Um, yeah,” Jyn says, turning, and casting back for her bag. She digs through it for a few seconds, before finding a thin, gray tank top; she thinks it might actually be the last clean, non-bloodstained, non-sweat-stained, item of clothing she has left.

Leia’s nose wrinkles.

“It’s short,” she says, which is true; Jyn had torn the bottom of the shirt off in the middle of a firefight once, using part of it as a tourniquet for a fallen rebel’s leg. The shirt now ends just above her bellybutton, in an uneven line.

“And gray,” Shara notes, her voice lilting at the end in a question, one Jyn interprets to be, _Why would you wear gray on your wedding day?_

“Yeah,” Jyn says. “So? Gray is Cassian’s favorite color.”

“It is _not_ ,” Leia says, snorting, but Jyn isn’t lying.

Fest is gray, and it’s home to Cassian.

The color is comforting, and warm to him.

Jyn pulls the shirt on, and then, with a grimace, the skirt too.

Leia and Shara study her.

“Passable,” Leia deems, though she’s smiling, and Jyn knows she approves. “Especially for how last minute this whole thing is.”

“Jyn, you look so pretty,” Shara says, beaming.

Jyn takes a chance, and looks at herself in the mirror.

She’s about as tall as Leia, and so the white skirt skims just past her bare feet, brushing the dark wood floor of the room. She’s washed her hair (the first time she has in over a week) and braided it, and Shara has carefully weaved the dark blue flowers she bought at the market throughout it. Her kyber crystal necklace hangs at her throat, and her arms are bare, and tan, from the last couple weeks she’s been here, on humid and sunny Akiva, with her Special Forces strike team, fighting off Imperial stormtroopers and Star Destroyers with the Akivans, liberating Akiva from Imperial rule.

She looks at her face, at her smooth, slightly tanned skin, and wide green eyes.

She’s smiling.

“Okay,” she says, turning back to Leia and Shara. “Let’s get going.”

Both women grin back at her.

Farsigo Bay is beautiful at sunset, with the huge sun slowly setting over the ocean. They are not technically in the bay anymore, but rather at the edge of it, just outside it, walking on a stretch of yellow sand beach that looks out over the oddly still ocean.

It makes sense, Jyn thinks, for her and Cassian to get married on a beach.

The other members of their party are already on the sand, and like Leia predicted, already well into celebration.

Jyn spots Han Solo cackling, opening up a bottle of Corellian whiskey; Jyn doesn’t recognize the label, though she trusts Leia’s complaint that he’s broken out the good stuff for this occasion. Next to him is Chewbacca, of course, his fur dark with sweat, the humidity of Akiva clearly not agreeing with him. On Chewbacca’s other side is Wedge Antilles, a little beaten up, due to his recent capture on Akiva that had prompted the Alliance to intervene; he’s smiling here, though, and she imagines the alcohol helps. With him is an Uugteen, a native of Akiva, who Wedge has assured her will actually be able to marry her and Cassian.

And then there’s Sergeant Major Jom Barell, Jyn’s fellow Special Forces teammate on Akiva, his skin flushed red from the heat. Next to him is another member of their team, Jas Emari, a Zabrak, the horns on her head noticeable even in the dim moonlight. There’s also Tom Komo, and Lili Vapasi, two members of Jyn’s more official Pathfinders team.

And of course there’s Asori Joshi, Cassian’s oldest friend, his mentor, fresh from Coruscant, her russet-colored skin glowing in the heat.

And there’s Kes, a glass of whiskey in one hand, his other arm thrown around Cassian’s shoulders.

Cassian, who has already spotted Jyn, and is staring at her with an honest vulnerability, his mouth slightly open.

She walks towards him, and his smile grows the closer she gets to him.

He steps away from Kes, and meets her halfway, reaching out and taking her hand in his.

His brown eyes are so wide, and a little watery.

“Don’t you dare cry on me,” Jyn says, sharply, and he laughs.

“I’ll try,” he says. “You, you just… You look very beautiful, Jyn.”

He’s told her that before, when she was wearing her same-old beaten up cargo pants, her face flushed, brow slick with sweat, dark bags from exhaustion under her eyes.

She knows he’s meant it, every time.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” Jyn says.

His hair has been combed, beard trimmed, and he’s wearing a thin white shirt and black pants, his feet bare like hers.

“The white’s an Alderaanian tradition,” he tells her.

“That’s _true?_ ”

He frowns. “Why did you think it wasn’t?”

“I thought Leia just said that to make me wear a skirt,” she explains.

“Hm.” He looks at the skirt for a moment and then shrugs, turning back to her. “I’m not complaining.”

“Yeah, I’m not either, really,” Jyn admits.

“I like the gray, too,” he adds, and Jyn smiles.

“I thought you would,” she says. “Is there anything remotely Festian about any of this?”

“Well, me,” he says, and she laughs. “Otherwise no, not really. Getting married outside would be far out of the question.”

“The beach is really nice,” Jyn says.

“It makes sense, us getting married on a beach.”

And she grins, because she’d had that same thought.

“Are you actually getting married tonight, or are you waiting for me to have this baby on this kriffing beach?” Leia calls.

Han runs to find her a chair.

The Uugteen speaks Basic, and agrees to keep the actual ceremony short.

Their witnesses gather on the beach in front of them. Leia, in her chair, Han standing behind her, squeezing her shoulders, her hand reaching back and touching his. Shara and Kes, leaning on each other, smiling. Wedge, Jom, Jas, Tom, and Lili, all grinning. Asori, crying unashamedly, her hands clasped together. Chewbacca, arms crossed over his chest, his face more relaxed than Jyn has ever seen him.

Jyn takes Cassian’s other hand, and they face each other.

His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his bare arms, and she sees the four-year-old black needle mark scars from when he was tortured in Lemniscate on Coruscant, when she tried to save him.

_“Are these going to be scars?”_

_“Probably,” he says, opening his eyes and looking at the marks with her. “The bigger one there, definitely. The smaller ones, likely. The Empire would want me to remember what happened, and scars have a way of doing that.”_

_Jyn frowns._

_“No,” Cassian says, smiling. “It’s okay. They remind me of you, and how you went back for me, even when you had no chance of saving me. You found me, so I could see you again.”_

She squeezes his hands, and she can’t stop smiling.

The sand is warm under her bare feet.

_“Your father would have been proud of you, Jyn,” he says._

_She breathes, her eyes swimming with tears._

_She reaches out, and takes his hand, squeezing it._

_“I’m proud of us,” she says, and it is exactly the kind of thing Cassian needs to hear._

_I’m proud of us_ , she thinks again, now, and this time she means only the two of them.

It’s four years since that moment, four years since she thought she was going to die on the beach on Scarif, Cassian Andor at her side, the Death Star plans on their way to a ship miles above their heads, on their way to Leia Organa.

Jyn is now twenty-six years old, and she imagines telling her twenty-two-year-old self that the irritated, straight-edge, Rebel Alliance Captain who’d glared at her on Yavin 4 was going to marry her in four years.

She thinks it sounds ridiculous, even now, with the reality of it in front of her.

Dimly, she hears the Uugteen minister ask Cassian a question.

“I will,” Cassian replies, and he sounds so certain, and he smiles at her so widely, and his eyes are so warm, and Jyn is suddenly terrified that _she’s_ the one who is going to cry.

She expects Han Solo has made a bet about this, and she does not want him to be proven right.

She’s asked the same question.

“I will,” she says, and she manages to keep her voice even, though she’s smiling so hugely she thinks it doesn’t matter.

Cassian’s hands squeeze hers.

She’s still grinning when he kisses her.

She can hear their friends laughing and cheering behind them, but she doesn’t care. She throws her arms around Cassian’s neck, pulling him down to her, and he responds by wrapping his arms around her waist, and picking her up off the beach.

“You’re crying,” he says, and Jyn blinks, and realizes her vision is a little blurry.

“I’m…” Jyn starts, and swallows, shaking her head. “I’m really happy.”

“Me, too,” Cassian says, pressing his forehead to hers. “Thank you.”

They move back to the house on the beach, chairs in the sand out front. The sun has almost completely set, and so Wedge and Chewbacca light fires for them to see. Han breaks out whiskey, and food, and Jyn has no idea where he got any of it.

“This was all very last minute, but I have to admit, it was also lovely,” Leia says, offering Wedge a grimace for the glass of Akivan fruit juice he hands her, before smiling at Cassian and Jyn.

“That was what we called Jyn, in the Pathfinders,” Kes says. “‘Very last minute; also, lovely.’”

They all laugh, and Cassian leans over to press a kiss to Leia’s cheek.

“Thank you for making it,” he tells her, and Leia smiles. “We know you are very busy.”

“Thank you for finally getting married, and now,” Han says. “I’ve been in the most boring meetings all week--”

“ _Han_ ,” Leia hisses, scowling, and Shara snorts.

“--It was nice to finally have a ‘can’t miss’ thing to escape to the Outer Rim for,” Han finishes. “Couldn’t miss Erso getting hitched. Never thought it’d happen.”

“Could say the same for you, Solo,” Jyn notes.

“Yeah, well,” Han says, shrugging, but he definitely can’t argue.

“Do you know what it is, yet?” Lili Vapasi asks, gesturing with her glass of whiskey towards Leia’s stomach.

“It’s a boy,” Han says, and there is no small trace of delight in his voice. Leia rolls her eyes, but the grin on her face says she’s just as excited.

They nod and thank everyone for the congratulations that follows.

“Boys are great,” Kes says, “But two-year-olds are not.”

“Where is Poe?” Jyn asks.

“With my father, on Sernpidal,” Shara says. “Oh! That reminds me.”

She gets to her feet, running into the house, leaving the group staring after her in bewilderment. She returns a moment later, carrying a music player.

“It’s my old music player, from my room at my father’s house,” she explains, looking at Cassian as she speaks. He stares at her, eyebrows raised. “It’s got music, from home. From Sernpidal. Music you _dance_ to.”

“Ah,” Cassian says, in understanding.

He gets to his feet, and turns to Jyn, holding his hand out to her.

“What, you can dance?” Jyn asks.

“Are you really surprised?”

“No,” she admits, and she takes his hand.

Jyn doesn’t know how to dance. She never had an opportunity to learn. And Cassian has likely guessed this about her, and so he pulls her close, and lets her lean on him, and she does her best to follow his lead. She feels very light, and airy, and she’s surrounded by people she likes, fellow soldiers, and friends, and she’s so happy and she’s so in love.

“When did you learn to dance? Who taught you?” She asks, her bare feet stepping in the still-warm sand. Night has fallen, and Akiva’s solo moon hovers over the ocean behind them.

“My tenth birthday,” Cassian says. “My mother taught me.”

Jyn looks up at him, her steps faltering for a moment.

“Yeah,” Cassian says, softly, reading her expression perfectly.

“She died the day after,” Jyn says, remembering what Cassian had said to her during their visit to Fest, about four years previously, when he’d told her of the day Serafima Andor had died.

“She did,” Cassian confirms. “I think she wanted to teach me how to dance because she knew all the other things I was learning at the time were not going to bring me joy. I was a soldier, and I was learning to fight, to shoot, to kill. I think she thought dancing was something _she_ could teach me, something that would make me smile. And she was right, of course.”

“This is a Sernpidal dance, then?” Jyn asks.

The music is soft, and oddly hypnotizing, and she likes it.

Cassian nods. “Oh, yes. She made sure I knew that.”

“I wish she could be here for you, today,” Jyn murmurs.

Cassian looks at her, tilting his head to the side. “I like to think she is, in a way.”

And Jyn knows what he means.

His faith is so strong, so certain. He believes his dead family still lingers with him, returns to him when he needs them. Of course he believes they were here, on his wedding day.

Jyn leans her head on Cassian’s chest, and listens to his heart beat.

“She would love you, you know,” Cassian tells her. “My mother. She would adore you.”

The song ends, but they stand there still, standing close together.

Jyn looks out over the quiet ocean, at the heavy gray moon over the water.

She thinks of ghosts, of the dead, of Serafima Andor, whose son inherited her eyes.

Jyn reaches up, for her kyber crystal at her neck, and touches it.

She blinks, and for a moment, she sees a flash of curly black hair, of wide brown eyes, of a dimpled smile.

She turns the crystal over in her hand, a crystal that once belonged to a different mother, and she’s struck by something else.

Inspiration.

She looks up at Cassian, and she thinks of how grateful she is for him, for being here still, for bringing her such joy.

For never leaving her. For always coming back.

She wants to offer him similar devotion. Proof that she’s sticking with him.

She looks at her mother’s kyber crystal, and she smiles.

 

* * *

 

**_Present, 10 ABY_ **

Jyn almost thinks the divorce process should be more difficult than it is.

Leia follows her and Cassian into the municipal courthouse in town (and the town, Jyn learns, is officially called Primaver). It’s a small courthouse, unsurprisingly, and Jyn supposes it’s helpful that they’re in the Outer Rim, where things tend to be simpler than in the Core Worlds.

Cassian hovers over her shoulder as she fills out the correct paperwork.

“I don’t think I have anything of yours,” he notes.

Jyn is pretty sure he doesn’t. He walked out of their home. At the time, home was a small apartment on Corellia, an in-between place as the New Republic was being set up and the Alliance absorbed into it. He didn’t take a lot when he left; his clothes, his shoes, his blasters, and she thinks that might be it.

“What did you take?” Jyn asks, because she’s curious.

She’s never had the opportunity to ask.

“When I left?” Cassian checks. “Only my things. Nothing of yours.”

“You don’t want anything? Now, even?”

“You don’t owe me anything, Jyn,” Cassian says, like he had the night before.

She sighs. “I know, but… I don’t know where you’re living, but I assume you have an apartment, or something.”

“I’m still on Chandrila,” Cassian says, and she knows she shouldn’t be surprised, but she is. “Hanna City. It’s… Intelligence is there, so.”

And the capital of the New Republic, and the Senate, and the Department of Defense, where Leia works, and where, she assumes, Cassian does, too.

The day he’d left, he’d told her that he was going to Chandrila.

“I have… almost everything,” Jyn says. “Still. All of our things. Sheets, and, and… The sofa, and your old desk, and--”

“Keep it, if you’d like,” Cassian says, softly.

Behind him, Leia Organa is pacing, her arms tight over her chest, occasionally sending Cassian and Jyn fierce glares, rolling her eyes.

Jyn has no idea why she’s so angry with them about this.

It’s the mature, responsible thing to do.

She’s mostly fine with it.

Or, at least, she will be.

“You know, I actually get paid now,” Cassian says, suddenly, and Jyn almost laughs at the old joke, the years of backpay neither of them have ever seen. “So, if you… I can--”

“I don’t want your money, Cassian,” Jyn says, irritated once she understands why he’s bringing it up.

“Just… I don’t know, maybe--”

“Don’t,” Jyn advises him. “Just don’t. I don’t want anything from you. Let’s get this over with, okay?”

Cassian nods.

They approach Leia, everything filled out; they just need her signature.

“You can still stop this nonsense,” Leia says, sharply, without preamble. “This is so stupid.”

“Please just sign the thing,” Cassian says, a sigh at the end of his voice, and Jyn is pretty sure this is not the first time he’s said those exact words to Leia.

Leia eyes him.

“You’re going to be so kriffing miserable,” she grumbles, but takes the pen from Cassian. “And _I_ am going to have to deal with it. We’re all just going to end up back here, anyway, except I’ll be signing your second marriage license.”

“We’re really not,” Jyn says.

Leia scowls at her. “You’re going to be a mess, too, I’m sure. Who looks after you?”

“You don’t look after me--”

“Uh, yeah, I do,” Leia snaps, rolling her eyes at Cassian’s objection. “Jyn?”

“I have an orphanage filled with children,” Jyn says, deadpan.

“I suppose,” Leia says.

She stares at Jyn and Cassian, eyes flickering between them, and then she sighs, and adds her signature.

“Are we telling Shara about this?” she asks.

“Kes knows,” Jyn admits. “It’s likely she does too.”

“Well,” Leia says, one eyebrow raised in obvious amusement, “At least I have someone to complain with.”

She hands the forms back to Cassian, and he stands there for a moment, just looking at them.

All they have to do is file them, and that’s it.

Cassian looks up at Jyn, and his eyes are so dark, and she can’t read him like she used to.

She isn’t sure if it’s because they’ve been separated for so long, that they haven’t seen each other in so long, or if it’s because they’ve just drifted so far apart, ideologically, that it makes Cassian as unknowable to her as the spy persona he frequently inhabits.

“Okay,” she says.

“Okay,” Cassian repeats.

He turns, and Jyn watches him walk away, to speak to a clerk.

The clerk takes the forms, and nods, looking bored, like this is an entirely common practice.

Like this isn’t unexpected.

Jyn spent most of her life thinking she would never get married, and then she met Cassian, and it slowly became a possibility.

One possibility she knows she never considered was that she might one day divorce Cassian.

She keeps her face composed, because she can feel Leia’s eyes on her.

She won’t cry.

Not here, at least. Not now.

Cassian returns to them, and he hands Jyn a copy of what she knows to be their certificate of divorce. She blinks at it for a moment, as Cassian folds his up, and sticks it in his jacket pocket.

“It’s done,” he tells her, somewhat unnecessarily, and she nods.

“Yeah.”

Cassian puts his hands in his pockets, and looks at her.

“I’m sorry, Jyn.”

“Me, too,” Jyn murmurs.

_I’m sorry I’m not the person I used to be. I’m sorry that I won’t fight in your war anymore. I’m sorry for being done. I’m sorry we ended like this._

She blinks, and remembers that day, five years ago, the words of her squad leader, on the ground on Jakku.

_“Don’t think of this as the end,” Nalto says, “Think of this as the beginning.”_

_It_ was _the end, though_ , she thinks.

She hadn’t known it at the time. But the Battle of Jakku; it was the beginning of the end, for her and Cassian.

She blinks again, refocusing her eyes, and thinks she can see similar apologies and memories reflected in Cassian’s eyes.

She wonders how he remembers the Battle of Jakku.

She wonders if he thinks of it as the beginning of the end for them, as well.

“Kriff,” Leia mutters.

Her voice seems to remind Cassian and Jyn of where they are. Jyn looks away, while Cassian straightens, and clears his throat.

“We should go to Kes and Shara’s,” he says. “You have to be back on Chandrila tonight, Leia.”

“Right,” Leia says.

She looks between Cassian and Jyn for a moment, until Cassian sighs, turning towards the door.

Jyn follows him and Leia out, shoving her hands into her pants pockets, so neither of them see how she’s shaking.

 

* * *

 

They meet up with the rest of Leia’s entourage back at Kes and Shara’s house.

Kes is the one who greets Jyn, Cassian, and Leia at the door. He studies their faces, and then groans.

“You actually went through with it.”

“Is Shara awake?” Cassian asks, ignoring Kes’ greeting.

“Yeah, and expecting each of you at some point,” Kes replies.

“You two go first,” Jyn says, to Leia and Cassian. “I’m staying a little longer, but you have to leave today, so…”

“Thanks, Jyn,” Leia says, and she heads off down the hallway. One of her guards tries to follow her, and everyone in the house hears Leia’s loud and annoyed rebuke.

“She hates the security,” Cassian mutters.

Jyn snorts. “There’s a surprise.”

Even Kes smiles.

“Come eat,” he says. “We’ve still got more food than we know what to do with.”

Jyn and Cassian sit side by side at the dining room table, and watch as Kes proceeds to fill plates with a wide range of foods, from dishes created on Yavin 4, to more exotic types of food, from other Outer Rim planets, from far away friends.

“Where’s Poe?” Cassian asks.

“Playing with a friend,” Kes says. “Don’t worry, I’ll call him home before you leave. He’ll want to say goodbye.”

Cassian nods, face a little more relaxed.

Kes sits down with them, and for a moment, it’s quiet, save for the clattering of silverware, as they eat.

This calmness is suddenly broken when Kes stands up.

“No, I’m sorry, I have to say something,” he says, and Jyn is more startled than anything else.

“Kes, what is it?”

But as she speaks, she becomes aware of the fact that Cassian has completely stilled, his back straight and tense, the way he looks when he thinks someone is going to attack him at any moment.

“I kind of hate you guys, right now,” Kes says, and whatever Jyn was expecting, it wasn’t that.

She opens her mouth, but Cassian’s hand suddenly moves, under the table, to grab her knee.

She freezes, because it’s a touch she recognizes.

It’s a warning.

It says, _Do not say anything_.

“You’re both being absolutely ridiculous,” Kes says, and there is real fury in his voice, a fury Jyn has never heard from Kes before. Kes has always been so friendly to her, so caring, so thoughtful; a great friend. But now he sounds almost like he wants to throttle her.

“You’re just…” Kes sighs. “Look, we all managed to survive the war. Somehow. In spite of the odds. And the odds were worse for you two, because you both have fought for longer than Shara and me. And you’re both _still here_. And neither of you are dying from the worst kriffing disease in the entire fragging galaxy.”

It clicks for Jyn then, why Kes is upset with them.

She wonders how Cassian saw this coming.

She wonders how she didn’t.

“You guys have a real opportunity to be happy, and you’re both choosing to ignore it,” Kes continues. “You’re choosing to separate, and you don’t have to! That’s what gets me! This is all a _choice_. And it’s the wrong kriffing choice, believe me. I would give anything to be in either of your shoes right now. _Shara_ would give anything to have a choice like this.”

“Kes,” Jyn whispers, and Cassian’s hand tightens on her knee.

“Jyn,” Kes replies. “Why can’t you work this out?”

Jyn swallows, hard, and she doesn’t know what to say.

“It’s my fault, Kes,” Cassian says quietly, looking up at Kes. “Jyn asked me to stay, and I walked out. I walked away. She’s… She’s tried very hard. This isn’t her fault. Not at all.”

“It’s just as much my fault,” Jyn murmurs. “I’m not the same person I used to be--”

“Yeah, but that’s fine,” Cassian says, turning back to her. “That’s the point. We… We were supposed to grow old together, and you’ve grown, and changed, and I’ve stayed the same. You want something more, something better, and kinder, and I… You didn’t let the war consume you, and at some point, I did.”

Jyn doesn’t disagree.

The war has long had a hold on Cassian, had sunk its claws into him decades before she met him, and at some point in the last ten years, it dragged him away completely. He slid into it, and he isn’t climbing out.

“ _Kriff_ the war, Cassian,” Kes says, and his eyes are wide, like this conversation has surprised him, and Jyn wonders what he thought had made her and Cassian separate in the first place. “You don’t have to fight in it. Give your resignation to Leia, she would _gladly_ accept it.”

Cassian closes his eyes, and Jyn is suddenly very aware of his hand, still on her leg.

“He can’t,” Jyn tells Kes, and she looks at Cassian as she speaks, though he keeps his eyes closed. “This is his cause. He’s been fighting for it for thirty years, and it’s not done yet. He can’t stop.” She shrugs, and looks down at the table, and adds, “And that’s just who he is. He wouldn’t be Cassian, otherwise.”

Maybe, she wonders, he’s actually right about the war being the same as him.

For a moment, she understands why he considers his personal identity to be inextricable from it.

When she looks up again, Cassian is looking at her.

His eyes are wide, and so apologetic, and so sad.

She swallows, and gently picks his hand up off her leg, and returns it to his.

“Excuse me,” she mutters, and gets up.

She leaves the room before either Kes or Cassian can say anything.

She goes outside, to the backyard.

It isn’t raining, not yet at least, and so she sits on the doorstep, and tilts her head to the sky, and lets the sun warm her face.

She waits.

 

* * *

 

At some point, she falls asleep, and is gently shaken awake.

But unlike yesterday, she’s not shaken awake by Cassian, but by Leia Organa.

Leia’s eyes are watery, and red-rimmed, and Jyn takes this to mean she’s finished speaking with Shara, and that she’s treating it as a final farewell.

“We’re leaving, soon,” Leia murmurs. “Cassian’s with Shara now, but we have to leave in about ten minutes, or I’ll miss my meeting.”

“Oh,” Jyn says. “Uh. Okay. Goodbye, then, Leia.”

Leia’s lips twist in a half-smile.

“I wanted to apologize to you, Jyn.”

“Apologize? Why?”

“You really can’t think of anything?”

Jyn sighs.

She wonders how she became friends with so many martyrs.

“You’re not… Keeping him, from me,” she says, slowly. “Cassian knows what he’s doing. He’s capable of making his own decisions. I’m not… This has nothing to do with you, Leia. I’m not upset with you, or anything. Kriff.”

Leia looks at her, frowning now.

“I seem to constantly underestimate you, Jyn Erso,” she says, after a moment of silence.

“You wouldn’t be the first,” Jyn says, wryly. “That’s something you can apologize for, though, if you’d like.”

“Smart-ass,” Leia snorts. “I forgot how much I missed you, Jyn.”

“I think I missed you, too, Leia.”

And she has. Jyn has not seen Leia in four years, which is almost the same amount of time that she knew her. But she has so many memories of Leia Organa, from that first time she saw her yelling at Han Solo from across a hangar on Hoth, to Leia dancing with Luke Skywalker during the party following the destruction of the Second Death Star, to Leia and Han getting married under fireworks, to Jyn and Cassian’s wedding on the beach on Akiva, to one of the last times she saw Leia Organa, immediately following the Battle of Jakku, when Leia told the rebels she was headed to Chandrila for a peace treaty signing.

In between these moments are smaller, fragments of memories, of sabacc cards, and drinking games on various bases, and Leia’s loud laugh echoing through ships, of the white skirt she loaned Jyn on her wedding day.

They were friends.

They aren’t anymore, but they were, for a time.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Leia says. “Make sure he keeps it together. He’s smart, but as evidenced by this whole fiasco, he’s also _incredibly_ stupid.”

Jyn huffs a laugh.

“And I’ll tell you,” Leia adds, and her voice is soft, and Jyn knows what she’s talking about without any further clarification. “Cassian told me that you want to know. I’ll tell you myself, in person, when… If--”

“When,” Jyn corrects, and Leia nods, grim.

“When,” she agrees, “The time comes.”

“Thank you.”

Jyn gets to her feet, and she and Leia walk back into the house.

Leia pushes the door open to Shara’s room without knocking.

Cassian is lying next to Shara on the bed, his arms wrapped around her, so she’s leaning heavily on his chest, his nose brushing her hair. He looks up when Jyn and Leia walk in, and his cheeks are wet, and his eyes dark, and Jyn knows he’s been crying.

He has an odd look on his face too, beyond that; like he’s recently realized something, and is devastated by it.

Jyn looks at Shara, and thinks she can guess what it was.

She looks a little weaker today, Jyn thinks. Her warm brown skin is paler than normal, and her hair looks oddly lanky. But her eyes are just as big, and bright, and she smiles warmly at Jyn and Leia when she spots them.

“Jyn,” Shara calls. “Heard you got divorced. Girls night out?”

Jyn laughs. “Anytime, Shara.”

“Time to go?” Cassian asks, and Leia nods.

He sighs, and helps Shara sit up, carefully piling pillows around her to keep her stable. He slides off the bed, getting to his feet, and holds one of Shara’s hands tightly in both of his.

“Call me, and I’ll meet you there,” he tells her.

“Meet her where?” Leia asks.

“I’m going back to Sernpidal, soon,” Shara says, “My sister’s there, and so is my father, and the city I grew up in. And I’ve finally convinced Cassian to go to Sernpidal. _Finally_.”

Jyn smiles.

She and Cassian had always talked of going to Sernpidal, of trying to track down Cassian’s mother’s family, to see if there are any living relatives left. Cassian had wanted to learn more about his mother’s past, her criminal history, and perhaps understand who she was, and why she made the choices she did, that took her to Fest, to meet Gabriel Andor, and have three children.

Serafima Cassiano has long been a mystery to her son, and Cassian has always wanted to know her better.

Jyn is glad he’s finally going to Sernpidal, to get some answers, even if she won’t be going with him.

“You just want to find out if I’m related to those famous Cassianos,” Cassian says, smiling at Shara.

“I would love to solve a mystery,” Shara says, and Cassian laughs.

He presses a kiss to her cheek, hugging her again.

“Soon,” he promises.

“Soon,” Shara agrees. “Leia, will you give him time off work?”

“As much time as you need,” Leia promises.

Cassian straightens, and presses a soft kiss to Shara’s hand, before dropping it, and moving to the door. Leia steps past him, to give Shara a last hug and kiss.

Cassian looks at Jyn, and she realizes this could very well be the last time they see each other.

Until Shara’s funeral, that is, probably.

They stare at each other, and Jyn has no idea what to say.

She feels like they have so many things left to say to each other, so many things they never said, so many things they’ve never wanted to say. She feels them all on the tip of her tongue, but she can’t quite grasp any of the words.

She doesn’t know how to say goodbye to Cassian Andor.

She never has.

“Ready?” Leia asks, and Cassian blinks.

“Yes,” he murmurs, still looking at Jyn.

Leia holds out her hand, and Jyn takes it.

“I expect we’ll run into each other again, sometime,” Leia says.

Jyn prays that the next time won’t be Leia coming to tell her that Cassian is dead.

“Take care, Leia,” Jyn says.

“You too, Jyn,” Leia says, and then she walks out of the room.

Jyn turns back to Cassian, and nods.

“Goodbye, Cassian,” she says, and this is the best she can do.

 _I loved you_.

“Goodbye, Jyn,” Cassian replies, and he almost smiles.

 _You can hate me_.

He looks at Shara once more, and then he leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

Jyn stares at the closed door for a minute.

“Oh, Jyn,” Shara whispers from the bed. “Come here.”

Moving like she’s underwater, Jyn follows her order. She clambers up on the bed next to Shara, taking Cassian’s spot, except this time it’s Shara who folds her up in an embrace, who lets Jyn lean on her chest, who presses her cheek to Jyn’s hair.

“I can’t drink with the pain killers,” Shara says, “But tonight, you will have all the wine you want, and I will drink all the tea, and it’ll be good enough.”

Jyn lets out a watery laugh.

Shara’s hand smooths over her hair.

“You can cry,” she says. “I’ll cry with you. We have a lot to cry about.”

And Jyn thinks that might be the kindest thing anyone has ever said to her.

It figures, she thinks, that it comes from a dying woman, her dying friend.

From Shara, who is running out of time.

To Jyn, who thinks she wasted all her time.

The galaxy is unkind, and unfair, and cruel.

Cassian Andor is never coming back.

Shara Bey is dying.

Jyn has always known the galaxy to be unkind, and unfair, and cruel. It has always taken from her.

But this. This is so much.

She nods, and then she begins to cry.

Shara’s tears dampen her hair.

Jyn closes her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Liberation of Akiva was an Old EU canon event/battle, with Jas and Jom as characters in it. I've shoehorned this gang into it, though I don't think it quite works out, but YOLO.
> 
> The next three chapters of this story are Cassian's perspective.


	4. Memores acti prudentes futuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memores acti prudentes futuri: mindful of things done, aware of things to come.
> 
> Or: Remembering the past, and foreseeing the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: time jump

**_Five months later, 10 ABY_ **

“Got everything?”

Cassian looks up, meeting the eyes of Leia Organa, standing in front of his desk, hands on her hips, and looking at him with a pointed expression.

“Yes,” he says, shortly.

“You’re approved for a week’s leave.”

“I know.”

Leia studies him.

“If you want more time, call, and tell me,” she says. “I’ll approve it.”

Cassian sighs. “Leia--”

“You _never_ take time off, Cassian,” Leia says, cutting him off. “And this isn’t just some vacation; you’re going to Sernpidal to look for your family. And to say goodbye to one of your oldest and dearest friends.”

Cassian looks away, back down at his desk.

“You don’t have many old friends left these days,” Leia adds.

“That’s true, but you don’t have to say it,” Cassian mutters.

“Are you doing all right?”

Cassian gets to his feet, reaching for his jacket.

He doesn’t actually have to go _right now_ ; his transport to Sernpidal isn’t set to leave for another hour, so he has plenty of time to get to the Port of Hanna City. But Leia has made it a habit, in the last five months, to ask Cassian how he’s doing, as a signal that she wants to talk about things that are not work-related.

He isn’t interested in this.

“I’m fine, Leia,” Cassian says. “How are you? How’s Ben?”

He knows she spoke to Luke today, so she likely has some sort of update on her son, as well.

“Luke says he’s doing very well,” Leia replies, distracted, for the moment. “He sent me a picture of him, actually--”

And Leia is someone who can always be counted on to want to talk about her son, and Cassian knows this, and has employed this tactic in the past; but he does like hearing her talk about her son, and so he doesn’t think it really counts as manipulation.

She thrusts a hologram at him.

Ben Solo has recently turned five years old, and blinks at Cassian with his mother’s dark brown eyes, his father’s ruffled hair fluttering around them. His face is unusually thin for a young child, and he’s cradling a lightsaber in his hands.

“Jedi, indeed,” Cassian says.

“He’s working on it,” Leia says, and the pride in her voice is very real. “Have you ever thought of having children, Cassian?”

He supposes he walked right into that one, by bringing up Ben. Cassian knows the topics that tend to distract Leia, and Leia knows that the best way to get Cassian to be honest is to surprise him.

He pauses, and cobbles his thoughts together, coming up with a simple, and true, answer.

“Of course.”

Leia waits, but Cassian has technically answered her question, and very much does not want to go into further detail.

“Do--”

“I have to go, Leia,” Cassian says, quickly. “Message me if you need me.”

Leia frowns at him, and for a moment, Cassian worries she’s going to insist this is a conversation they absolutely must have, before he leaves for Sernpidal.

But she only nods.

“Give Shara my love,” she says. “Kes and Poe, too.”

“I will,” Cassian says, pulling his jacket on, and reaching for his bag.

“And take care of yourself,” Leia continues. “I… I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for, on Sernpidal.”

Cassian stills, halfway out the door.

He turns back, and looks at Leia.

“I’m fine, Leia,” he says, for the second time in as many minutes.

Leia’s lips twist, in a thin facsimile of a smile.

“I hope I’ll believe you soon,” she says.

That’s as positive a response as Cassian is going to get.

He nods, and leaves the room.

 

* * *

 

Cassian walks through Senate Plaza, where the officers for the Department of Defense, and the offices for New Republic Intelligence, are located.

Hanna City is loud around him, ships zooming over his head, buildings towering on all sides, people and aliens of all races hurrying through the crowded streets. Cassian blends in with the civilians today; he isn’t wearing any official New Republic uniform, as he’s traveling, and not as a member of the New Republic government.

He feels a little strange, in his casual clothes.

He doesn’t want to explore the ramifications of feeling strange about this.

He has plenty of time to kill, as he’d left work earlier than he’d really wanted to, and so he decides to take the long walk to the Port of Hanna City, by going along the waterfront, next to the Silver Sea.

The waterfront, and the Silver Sea, is Cassian’s favorite part of Hanna City. He’s always had an odd fascination with seas, and beaches; he thinks it’s because the two planets he’s spent any extended amount of time on--Fest and Coruscant--don’t have oceans. This makes any large, open body of water almost a novelty to Cassian; it’s always something foreign, something unusual, something serendipitous.

He approaches the waterfront, looking down at the beach below.

The sand at the edge of the Silver Sea is a rocky brown, while the Silver Sea gets its name from its oddly shimmering sheen. He’s been told it has something to do with natural minerals in the seafloor, creeping to the surface. He knows it isn’t toxic; people regularly swim and boat in the sea.

He looks at the beach, and then raises his eyes, towards the sea.

The waves are calm today, and the sun is reflecting heavily off the surface, blinding him for a moment.

_In the distance, a wall of light is speeding towards them._

_They stop to look at it._

_Any pain-induced delirium Cassian may have been experiencing fades away._

_“The Death Star,” Jyn breathes._

_“Too late,” Cassian says, and it’s the truth. The plans have been sent._

_He is not afraid._

Cassian blinks, and forces himself back into the present, to this very different beach.

It’s colder. And darker. And the light coming from the ocean is not his death, approaching him.

And there is no fearless woman at his side, with big green eyes, looking at him like--

He turns away from the sea, and walks.

He knows he’s not doing himself any favors, by lingering near the sea so much. Seas remind him inextricably of Jyn. He thinks they always will. He and Jyn very nearly died next to an ocean, once, and then he has all the memories of their short trips to Lah’mu over the years, to fix up her parents’ old house, trips where they’d visit the ocean, where she’d taught him how to swim, where he’d watch her walk through the surf, smiling at the salt wind that blew through her hair, smiling at the water that flew up into her face, her eyes--

 _Stop_ , he tells himself, and moves back, further into the city, away from the sea.

Leia had predicted he’d be a mess without Jyn, and he knows she’s right. It isn’t so much that he’s falling apart; he’s still just as proficient at his job as he was before, and he hasn’t taken any personal days, but shown up for every meeting and strategizing session, has visited various planets around the Outer Rim, checking in with smaller governments and military forces. Nothing has changed for him professionally.

But he’s missing something.

Physically, he’s missing a weight around his neck.

The first week without the kyber crystal necklace had seen Cassian constantly forgetting that he’d returned it to Jyn, and instead thinking he’d somehow lost it. He’d almost torn his bedroom apart one morning looking for it, only to remember when he’d thrown open a drawer and spotted a copy of the divorce filings.

 _Oh_ , he’d thought, looking at the papers. _That’s right_.

He’s spent the last four years being Jyn’s husband without ever seeing her, and so he thinks this is why it’s difficult for him to understand that he’s not even that anymore.

He’s just Cassian Andor. Alone.

And even being alone isn’t unusual for him.

Nothing has changed, really, save for the absence of the kyber crystal necklace. He lives in the same apartment, goes to the same office, looks at the same silvery sea, walks through the streets of the same city, as he has in the last four years. His settings, these landscapes, are all very much the same.

But he’s _missing_ something.

The kyber crystal necklace, _Jyn’s_ kyber crystal necklace, kept him grounded. Kept him feeling close to her, even when she was so physically far away.

And that’s gone, and he can _feel_ the absence. The loss.

He hears Jyn’s voice in his head.

_“You made your choice, and I’ve accepted it. It’s not… I can’t say it’s fine, or that it’s okay. Because it’s not, Cassian. It never was. But it’s the choice you made, and not accepting it would result in me… I’d go mad with it. So I’ve accepted it.”_

The thin line of her mouth, the way her hands trembled, the way her eyes were so wide, so dark…

 _Stop it_ , he tells himself, and he keeps walking.

He reaches the Port of Hanna City without any more memories overcoming him, staving off his melancholy the way he always has; by moving, by refusing to stop. It’s an impossibility, letting himself rest. He’s always known it to be, knew he was going to live and die by the war, and he’s always been fine with that, more or less, because everyone he loved felt the same way.

Nerezza, and Wada, and Asori, and Taraja, and Travia.

And Jyn.

But now, he understands, she wants more. She wants life after the war.

She _deserves_ life after the war.

He can’t begrudge her that. He can’t take it from her.

She always had such hope, such faith that there was more for her than blood, pain, and loss, and he’s always thought the same for her, too.

So when she told him she was not enlisting with the New Republic Military, but getting away from the war…

He realized she was getting away from him, too.

Because of course he was enlisting. Because of course he was continuing with the war, with New Republic Intelligence. Of course he was following Leia Organa to Chandrila, of course he was joining her team at the Department of Defense. Of course he was still following orders, still leading soldiers, still offering thought and insight on strategy in the Outer Rim, where the Empire still scratches the surface.

Jyn has charged him with making a choice, but it _wasn’t_ a choice.

Not really.

Cassian’s identity has always been tied to the war, to the cause. He grew up in it, matured with it, saw his morals and beliefs governed by it. To leave the war, the Rebellion, would have been to leave _himself_. To leave everything he’d ever known, everything he knew he deserved.

The blood, and pain, and loss.

To leave the war would be to have to reckon with everything it’d taken to get him here.

To keep him _alive_.

His survival, despite it all.

He doesn’t know what it means. What to do with it.

So he does what he always has, and hopes it’s enough: he fights.

He leaves Jyn. He lets her go. He prays she does the same for him.

She married someone who’s always put the cause before _everything_. Someone who’d warned her he’d put the cause before her, too.

And so Cassian had.

She’d asked him to follow her, and he’d turned away, and followed the war.

Jyn has always deserved more.

He hopes now she can find it.

He locates the transport headed Galactic North, to Sernpidal, and wonders what he’s facing there.

 

* * *

 

Sernpidal had managed to stay out of the war, more or less.

Its native species, the Sernpidalians, had made it clear they had no interest in dealing with the Republic or the Separatists, and so when the Empire had taken over, it’d followed the cue of its predecessors and left the Sernpidalians mostly alone. Sernpidal does not have anything unique, or lucrative to offer the galaxy. Its main exports are metals, and those can be mined in a thousand other systems.

Due to the Empire’s disinterest in Sernpidal, Cassian has never seen the planet before.

He’s looked it up plenty of times. As a child, in school on Fest, he’d found books about it in a library and read everything he could, so he could go home to his mother and tell her what he’d learned, in the hope she’d want to tell him more about it, and her own childhood.

Every time, Serafima Andor had only looked at her youngest son, smiled softly, and hugged him.

She very rarely spoke of her old home, and herself, and there was nothing Cassian could do to convince her to talk to him.

And then years after her death, when Wada had told him a bit more about Serafima Cassiano, about her life as a criminal and smuggler on Sernpidal, and the revelation that Cassian had been named after her, Cassian had spent hours in the library at the Royal Imperial Academy, reading about the planet’s history, as if he could find his mother in the archives. Ethan Bain had frequently been at his side, working on actual course work, while Cassian poured over maps, and star charts, and oral histories, flipping through records with a reckless abandon.

“What are you looking for?” Ethan had asked during one of these study sessions.

And Cassian could never tell him the truth, because Ethan had known him as Joreth Sward during this time, and Joreth Sward’s mother was from Fest, not Sernpidal.

He’d always lie and say it was research for Asori.

And Ethan, kind, loyal Ethan, had always nodded, and said nothing more.

Even then, Cassian wasn’t sure he knew what he was looking for.

Because it was clear that Serafima Cassiano was not going to be found in official documents. Not in historical records. Not in Imperial archives.

But Cassian had looked for her, still.

Because he didn’t know where else he could find her, outside of Sernpidal itself.

He’s now thirty-six years old, and exiting the public transport, and stepping foot on Sernpidal, for the first time.

The planet is blue, and green, from space, but on the surface looks more dusty. Cassian’s research has told him the planet’s natural terrain consists largely of seas, ravines, and deserts, a polar opposite and conflicting collage of climate. The sky is a soft blue, and the air is warm.

It is so unlike Fest.

He shouldn’t be surprised by this, but he is.

Serafima had tolerated Fest, but she’d never loved it, not like her husband and her youngest son did. And Fest had felt similarly toward her. She’d walked through snowbanks with a grace Cassian had grown to inherit, but the snow had always seemed to dance out of her way, to leave her untouched, while it always seemed to want to bury him.

As a child, Cassian had believed that Fest recognized Serafima as an outsider, as someone who did not belong to the ice, and the frost, and so the elements had avoided her like she was a sickness.

Once again, he wonders how his mother ended up on Fest, of all places.

Cassian begins to walk through Sernpidal City. He has the home address of Shara’s sister, Maria, and has been told to go there to meet up with Kes, Shara, and Poe, who have already been on Sernpidal for three months. But he has a few hours. And he’s curious.

Sernpidal is not a very populous planet, and Sernpidal City is much smaller than Hanna City, and Cassian expects it’d barely take him a day to go everywhere within the city limits. But he walks slowly, and looks all around him, taking in vendor stands, and restaurant and shop windows, listening to the chatter around him, both in Basic and Sernpidalian.

His Sernpidalian is spotty, at best, horrific at worst. It is an extremely uncommon language, due to the tiny fraction of people and aliens who speak it, but Cassian has spent most of his life trying to figure it out. He has a handful of memories of his mother singing quietly to herself in the house, while she worked on her pottery, her hands moving smoothly over whatever piece she was creating, her voice soft and low. She’d spoken to him in her language a few times, words he’d understood to be terms of endearment, like _love_ and _my darling_ and _beloved_. He’d been young at the time, but convinced of his maturity, and so he’d often roll his eyes at her gentle praise, her understated devotion.

He wishes, now, that he’d paid more attention to her.

He wishes he could remember her voice more clearly.

He adjusts the strap of his bag over his shoulder, and steps down a new street, when he’s distracted by a stand full of flowers.

Flora and fauna is abundant on Sernpidal, despite, or maybe because of, its numerous deserts. The stand Cassian is facing is practically overflowing with flowers in brilliant shades of red, white, blue, purple, and pink. The stand is run by a native Sernpidalian, tall, with white hair, pale skin, and discomfiting red eyes. The Sernpidalian is dressed in the traditional style of Sernpidalians, a long red robe striped with white, the hood pulled up.

The Sernpidalian is staring at him, though Cassian is staring back, so he isn’t offended.

He approaches the stand.

“You have beautiful flowers,” he says, as a greeting.

“Yes,” the Sernpidalian agrees, because there is no other possible response for a vendor. The Sernpidalian’s voice is deep, and low, and Cassian guesses this is a man. “We grow them on our farm, just outside the city.”

“Do flowers grow year-round here?”

The Sernpidalian shoots him an odd look. “You are not from Sernpidal?”

“No,” Cassian says. “But my mother was.”

“Ah. Is that what brings you here? We do not get many visitors.”

Cassian knows that’s true. Sernpidal does not have a lot off-worlders would likely find worth a trip all the way out here, to the edge of Wild Space, the edge of the galaxy itself.

“Yes,” he tells the vendor, and it is partially the truth.

The vendor nods.

“Our flowers grow year-round,” he says. “They drink the water from the seas, and flourish in the constant sun, and so they never despair, even when the people do.”

As the vendor speaks, he plucks up a flower, a deep blue one that turns its stem towards the bright sun, and holds it out to Cassian.

He takes it.

_Jyn walks towards him, in a long white skirt, wearing a thin gray shirt that ends just above her midriff, and her eyes are so wide and green and sparkling, and her hair is dark and neatly arranged, blue flowers decorated among the braids--_

Cassian drops the flower.

The Sernpidalian does not look offended, nor surprised.

“You despair,” the Sernpidalian says.

This is not the first, or even the tenth, time Cassian has come across someone who seems to understand him better than he does himself.

“Did your flower tell you that?” He asks, not unkindly, and not judgingly, but curiously.

“No,” the Sernpidalian says. “Your Sernpidal eyes did.”

And Cassian supposes that could very well be true.

He looks at the flowers.

“I’ll take some of the white and purple ones,” he says.

 

* * *

 

He follows Shara’s directions to Maria’s house.

Maria Bey lives in Sernpidal City, in a neat tan-colored house, surrounded by similar-looking and colored houses. Cassian knocks on the front door, which is opened by none other than Poe Dameron, who throws his arms around Cassian’s waist without pause or any verbal greeting.

“Hi, Poe,” Cassian says, hugging Poe back.

Poe looks up at him, and he’s smiling widely, as if his entire day has been made just by Cassian’s appearance.

“Hi, Cassian,” he says. “Mama and I are going to the Port tomorrow to look at the ships, will you go with us?”

Cassian laughs. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Come on, Poe, let the man in,” says Kes, coming from around the corner. He smiles at Cassian, stepping past his son to hug him.

“Hi, Kes,” Cassian says.

“It’s good to see you, Cass.”

“You too, Kes.”

Kes looks tired, his normally bright brown eyes a little dazed, a little bloodshot. Cassian imagines he has not slept well in the last five months, what with the stress and horror of Shara’s diagnosis.

But he does not want to voice this belief, and so he says nothing, and follows Kes inside.

Shara is in the kitchen, sitting at the table with another woman.

To Cassian’s surprise, Shara gets to her feet.

“Look at you,” he says, before he can stop himself.

Shara rolls her eyes. “Yep, walking and everything.” She ignores Cassian’s attempts at an apology, hugging him tightly, and kissing his cheek.

He sighs, and returns the hug. “I’m very happy to see you, Shara.”

“It’s a new therapy I’ve been trying,” Shara says, in answer to his unspoken question. “Combined with a _wild_ cocktail of drugs, I’m doing _very_ well. All things considered.”

“Right.” Cassian steps back, and hands her one of the bouquets of flowers. “These are for you.”

“You’re sweet,” Shara says, smiling. “Come, meet my little sister.”

Maria Bey looks very much like her older sister, with the same dark, curly hair, though hers is longer than Shara’s, brushing her waist. She’s a few years younger than Shara, closer to Cassian’s age, and is dressed in shades of red and white, like the native Sernpidalians.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Cassian Andor,” Maria says, shaking his hand.

“I’ve heard about you, too,” Cassian says, and it’s the truth. Shara has mentioned her sister, frequently, to Cassian, over the years. “Um, these are for you. As a thank you, for letting me stay with you.”

Maria takes the second bouquet of flowers. “Thank you, that’s very kind.”

To her sister, she adds, “I get it now.”

Shara laughs.

“Get… What?” Cassian asks, slowly, wondering if he’s forgetting a joke about flowers.

“Back in the day,” Shara says, mirth on her face, “I thought a lot about trying to set you up with Maria.”

“Oh,” Cassian says, and he doesn’t know what to say.

“This was over ten years ago,” Shara continues. “Back when I was still trying to figure you out. But you were funny, and smart, and polite, and just a year younger than Maria. And you had family from Sernpidal, that was a nice bonus.”

“Handsome, too,” Maria adds, and Shara laughs again, while Cassian blushes.

“So I told you a _lot_ about her, in the hope you’d show some interest,” Shara says. “But you were very obtuse, and unaware. And entirely uninterested.”

“Shara, I literally had no idea that was what you were doing.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Shara notes. “Because then you met Jyn, and you were _gone_.”

Now that he thinks about it, Shara had spoken more of her sister in the years before Rogue One.

Before he’d met Jyn.

“Yes,” Cassian says, because he can’t disagree.

He’d fallen very quickly for Jyn, ten years previously.

And he’s still in love with her, and he expects he always will be.

He’s fine with it. It makes sense.

He looks at Maria now. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Maria says, carefully putting her and Shara’s flowers in a vase. Cassian stares at the vase, because it’s made of handmade pottery, like something his mother would have made.

“I will never leave Sernpidal, and from what Shara tells me, you’re the type of man who cannot stay anywhere for long,” Maria continues, and Cassian has no response to this, because she’s entirely correct.

Shara grimaces, because she knows it is too. “My sister is younger than me, but much wiser.”

Maria finishes arranging the flowers, and turns back to Cassian, surveying him.

“A Cassiano, huh?”

 

* * *

 

“I went digging,” Maria says, sitting at her desk in her home office, Shara and Cassian sitting in chairs before her. Kes has taken Poe to a nearby park, and so the three of them are gathered in her office, to hear of what Maria has been able to find out about the famous Sernpidal Cassianos, who Shara has long believed Cassian to be related to.

And as far as Cassian knows, he might be. He knows his mother’s last name, before she married his father, had been Cassiano, because it’s where his own name had come from, according to Wada, who’d heard as much from Nerezza.

_“Cassiano?”_

_“You didn’t know? Nerezza told me that was her name before she took your father’s on Fest. You were named after her, Cassi.”_

“And I found a birth record for a Serafima Adi Cassiano, born 3214 LY, in Sernpidal City,” Maria says, and Cassian practically dives over the desk to see it.

It’s a birth record, so it’s very plain, but it does list Serafima’s birth date as Cassian remembers it, along with a note that she weighed seven pounds exactly at birth, and was twenty-one inches long. He reads further, and finds the names of her parents, his grandparents: Anton and Talia Cassiano.

He’s never heard their names before.

“That’s her birthday,” he tells Maria, because it’s the only thing he can confirm.

“That’s what I was hoping to hear, because she’s the only Serafima Cassiano I could find a record of,” Maria says.

“Maria’s a barrister,” Shara says. “She knows everyone here, which is why I wanted _you_ to come here, to meet her. If anyone can find information on your mother, it’s Maria.”

“It’s been… interesting,” Maria says. “Your mother has a very… colorful history, Cassian.”

“Tell me.”

“Well…”

Maria sighs, and hands Cassian her datapad.

It’s filled with criminal records.

Assault. Juvenile theft. Grand theft. Trespassing. Juvenile Weapons Possession. Resisting arrest. Truancy. Smuggling. Flying without a license.

On, and on.

And the ages; Serafima was thirteen the first time she was apprehended by the police, for theft.

The last record is not of an arrest, but a warrant for one: grand theft of a ship and stolen property, in the year Serafima would have turned seventeen.

Shara leans over Cassian’s shoulder, reading with him.

“Wow,” she breathes.

“Yeah,” Cassian agrees.

His breath catches at the last report, because it has a mugshot attached.

It’s the same picture as the hologram Wada had given Cassian when he was sixteen. Serafima can be no older than seventeen, and her dark, curly hair is short like Nerezza’s was, just brushing her chin. But her eyes are defiant, and staring directly at whoever is taking the picture, and Cassian can’t help but think he looks very like her.

“You do have her eyes,” Shara notes.

Cassian looks up at Maria. “Her parents are dead?”

Maria nods, and her face is very grave. “Yes, there’s death records for both of them. Talia died fifty-seven years ago, while Anton died about fifty years ago.”

Serafima was barely a teenager when her father died. A child, when she lost her mother.

Cassian can relate.

“You should know,” Maria begins, and hesitates. She looks very uncertain, very hesitant, and for the first time, a little uncomfortable.

Cassian is visited by a rush of foreboding.

He came to Sernpidal in part to learn about Serafima and her mysterious family, but he suddenly wonders if what Maria knows is something he’s going to wish he had not known.

Still, he presses: “What is it?”

Maria sighs, and looks at her sister, and Cassian knows exactly what she’s going to say before she says it.

“Both Talia and Anton died from Quannot’s Syndrome,” she says, confirming Cassian’s fear.

He isn’t as surprised as he probably should be.

He’d almost suspected it.

Shara had first given him the idea, back on Yavin 4, five months ago, when he’d gone to see her after her diagnosis. He’d been about to leave with Leia, and so he’d laid next to Shara in her bed, and listened to her voice, as she’d shared some of her thoughts on the disease, her fate.

“I’ve known quite a few people who’ve gotten it, so I probably shouldn’t be too shocked,” she’d said.

“I thought it was fairly rare?” Cassian had replied, confused.

“It is,” Shara had said. “On most systems. But it’s weirdly common on Sernpidal.”

 _Weirdly common on Sernpidal_.

And Cassian had thought of Serafima, who he didn’t know, and remembered Wada mentioning that her parents had died when she was young, and he’d wondered.

Because Poe was young, too, and about to lose his Sernpidalian mother.

The door had opened then, and Leia and Jyn had walked in before Cassian could wipe the stricken look off his face.

And now here he is, five months later, with confirmation.

“It’s genetic,” he says now, to the Bey sisters.

“Our grandmother died from it,” Maria says. “And so did an aunt. Yes.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re going to get it,” Shara says, quickly, and she squeezes Cassian’s arm as she speaks, trying to offer him some comfort. “There are other factors, too, and then not everyone with a genetic link to it ends up with it.”

“I know,” Cassian says, softly.

The odds are with him, he knows. Quannot’s Syndrome is still extremely rare.

But he looks at his mother’s seventeen-year-old face, and he feels like he understands her.

 _You thought you were going to die young_ , he thinks, _And so you did anything, and everything, you wanted to do before you did. You smuggled and stole ships for the thrill of it, and you lived cavalierly, because you thought you were going to die, and you thought you were running out of time_.

Serafima only blinks back at him, her face impassive.

Cassian relates.

He’s always felt like he’s been running, always felt like he was being chased by something invisible, a specter; the ghosts of the people he’s killed, the Empire, war itself.

He’s always felt like he was running out of time.

He’s never had enough time.

 

* * *

 

**_Five years earlier, 5 ABY_ **

Cassian paces in the hallway, fidgeting, twisting his hands in front of him as he moves. He knows he should stay out of the way, should sit in one spot and be still, to make sure he doesn’t inconvenience any of the rushing medical workers around him, but he’s too nervous.

He looks at the chronometer on the wall, and sighs.

Asori has been in surgery for six hours already.

He’d gotten the call just after she’d been admitted. He’d been on Chandrila, in a meeting headed up by Mon Mothma herself, to discuss recent Imperial movements in the Outer Rim. The Empire’s sympathizers are on the run, and there’s rumors of an upcoming, and potentially final, stand on Jakku.

There is a hint, a suggestion, of peacetime, and Cassian can hardly believe it.

Mon Mothma was even talking of a Military Disarmament Act.

But Leia was nervous.

“I want peace as much as the next person,” she’d told Cassian, as they walked to the meeting. “But I’m worried about what all those Imperial factions in the Outer Rim might do, if left unchecked. We still need a Military.”

And they would have one. And it’d still be the largest in the galaxy.

But so much smaller than what the Empire had been, or the Alliance, for that matter.

And it made Leia nervous.

Cassian can’t blame her. He agrees.

He’s hopeful. He wants peace. He doesn’t want the war.

But what if they disband the Alliance’s forces, and the unknown Imperial factions, or something else, rise up? What will they do then?

The war has to have been worth it.

He’d been listening to Mothma speak of the end of the war as they knew it, while Leia fidgeted at his side, when one of Leia’s aides had told him he’d received an urgent message from Coruscant.

There’s only one person Cassian considers a friend on Coruscant.

The message had been simple, but devastating.

It’d been notice that Asori Joshi had been grievously wounded during a skirmish with Imperial sympathizers on Coruscant.

And that Cassian Andor, as her emergency contact, should come immediately.

And of course he had, leaving the meeting with only a whisper to Leia as to where he was going.

Which is how he’s ended up in a medical center on Coruscant, waiting to hear if Asori is going to live.

He crosses his arms over his chest, and paces.

Asori, he thinks, can’t die now. Not after everything. Not so quickly after the death of the Emperor, the fall of the Empire. Not after the statues, and public art pieces, the symbols of Imperial power that litter her home planet of Coruscant, have been torn down and destroyed.

She should live to _see_ it all. See what her decades of work have created, have awarded her.

He can’t lose her now.

Cassian is thirty-one years old. He has known Asori since he was fifteen, more than half his life. He’s come to love her, as an odd mixture of mother, sister, and mentor, and he can’t imagine what he’d do without her support, her advice, the knowledge that she was still out there in the universe somewhere.

Unconsciously, he reaches for his neck, and grasps the kyber crystal necklace tucked under his shirt collar.

It’s warm in his hands, and he holds it tightly, and he prays.

 _Please_ , he thinks, and he doesn’t know who he’s talking to. Anyone.

Cassian is so lost in his thoughts that he’s startled by a doctor.

“Cassian Andor?”

“Yes,” he says, straightening, dropping the kyber crystal back under his shirt. “How is she?”

“Stable,” the doctor says, and Cassian exhales sharply, a little weight escaping his shoulders. “She took two blaster shots to the chest. We managed to repair the holes in her left lung and stomach, and we’re optimistic about her recovery.”

Cassian nods. “Can I see her?”

Asori looks very small.

She’s breathing shallowly, and her normally pristine black hair is messy, out of its usual bun and instead loose, spread over her white pillow, giving her the appearance of an asymmetrical halo. Her russet-colored skin is almost pale, and her eyes are closed; but her breathing is even, and the thick white bandages covering her chest are clean, and she’s _alive_.

He sits in the chair next to her bed, and studies her.

She’s _alive_.

He leans back, and he watches her sleep, and he waits.

After an hour, he receives a message from Jyn. She’s on Kashyyyk of all places, with Han Solo and Chewbacca of all people, helping the Wookiees liberate their planet from the Imperial stranglehold it’d been caught under for so long, by wiping out the last factions. He’d messaged Jyn that Asori had been injured, and he was going to Coruscant to see her. Jyn had been, understandably, alarmed. Alarmed at the news about Asori, and alarmed at the news that Cassian was going to Coruscant. She has no good memories of Cassian on the planet; the last time they’d been here, five years previously, he had very nearly died at the hands of his ex-best friend.

Cassian doesn’t know what’s become of Ethan Bain with the fall of the Empire.

He resolves to find out before he leaves.

Coruscant is relatively safe for him, as the Empire has no actual presence on the planet anymore. Anyone who’d remember Joreth Sward and wish him dead for betraying the Empire is either also dead, or on the run, or eager to not be found out as an Imperial.

“Cass?”

The word is slurred, but he recognizes his name, and recognizes Asori’s voice.

He almost falls out of the chair in his haste to stand.

“Hey,” he breathes, leaning over Asori, brushing her hair out of her eyes. She blinks at him, slowly, hazel eyes almost hilariously confused, and he thinks he’d laugh in any other situation. “Asori.”

“Cass,” she says, again, and he’s just so relieved she’s aware enough to recognize him.

“Yeah, it’s me. How are you feeling? Are you in pain?”

She blinks up at him, and he’s alarmed by the tears that slide out of her eyes.

He’s never seen her cry before.

“There’s so many of them,” she whispers, and she blinks, and her eyes unfocus, and he realizes that she’s no longer with him. She’s remembering the battle that had landed her in emergency surgery.

“It’s over, Asori,” he says, speaking slowly, making his voice clear. He takes her hand in his, and gently squeezes it. “It’s over. You’re going to be okay.”

“So many of them,” she says, again. “‘S never over. It’s never… Over. So much… ‘S much to do.”

Cassian freezes, ice crawling up his spine.

 _So much to do_.

“I know,” he murmurs.

Asori is still crying, her lip trembling.

“We gotta stop them,” she says, speaking more quickly now, and Cassian is unsure if she’s becoming more aware, or just more scared. “Gotta… Watch. Don’t stop.”

“I know,” Cassian says.

_Don’t stop. Keep going._

_All the way_.

He thinks of Leia, and her anxiety, her fear that if they disband the Military after final peace talks, if they even step back a tiny bit, that another regime will rise, and will topple everything they’ve worked so hard to build. Everything they’ve fought for, bled for, died for.

He looks at Asori in this hospital bed, and knows she’s living proof of what could happen if the New Republic lets its guard down.

Of what could happen if Cassian stops fighting.

He has done so much for the war, for the cause. Committed so many terrible crimes. Killed so many people. Lied, stolen, tortured, assaulted, murdered. The list goes on, and on. He can’t ever let himself remember it all.

There is _so much_.

And so much left to do.

“Cassian,” Asori whispers, and Cassian turns back to her.

“Yeah, Asori.”

She smiles, and he expects the painkillers are fully kicking in, and that she’s liable to nod off at any minute, and not remember a word of this.

“I’m proud of you,” Asori says, and Cassian’s heart feels so heavy.

Asori knows a lot of what he’s done. Not all of it. But a lot.

He’s committed a lot of terrible crimes because he knew she’d want him to. Because he knew she’d do the same, if she were in his shoes.

Asori is a career-long soldier. She’s never had anything more than war; first the Clone Wars, and then the Rebellion, and the Civil War.

Cassian understands, finally, that this is also his fate.

The galaxy might be on the brink of an abridged peacetime, but that peacetime is delicate, and will rely on a handful of people to keep it going.

People like Leia Organa, who will choose to argue for a Military that no one else wants, but one the galaxy needs.

People like Cassian Andor, who has bled and lost and died and come back, again and again, for the Rebellion.

Cassian Andor, who has done so many terrible things in the name of the dream of peace. Cassian Andor, who surely doesn’t deserve any of that peace now.

He leans down, and kisses Asori’s forehead. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Naturally, she’s already passed out.

He sits down, and buries his face in his hands.

He hears a soft beep, a notification of a new message.

It’s from Leia.

 _Military Disarmament Act is likely to be instated this year. Mothma/Generals anticipating Jakku is going to be the final stand. Headed there now. Meet me when you can. Other troops to follow soon_.

Cassian nods, though Leia can’t see him.

He’ll stay with Asori for a day or two, and make sure she’s okay, and then he’ll go to Jakku, for this last stand by the Empire.

And then he’ll go with Leia to the Senate, to the New Republic capital on Chandrila, and argue against the implementation of the Military Disarmament Act.

And when it is implemented, as he and Leia anticipate it will be, he’ll do what he can, in the New Republic Military, and Intelligence, to keep peacetime alive.

To keep the dreams, the hopes, of so many alive.

He looks at the last message he’d received, from his wife of just over a year:

 _Be safe. Give Asori my love. Message me when she’s awake. Love you_.

It is short, but it breaks his heart, because he knows what he’s going to do next.

He’s going to help keep Jyn’s dream, her hope, of peace alive.

He’s going to stay in the New Republic Military, and fight, because that’s all he is. It’s all he’s ever been. A soldier, in a lifelong war. Someone whose identity, whose morality, whose very being is so tied to the cause that it cannot be separated from it, for fear of loss of faith, loss of identity, loss of everything. Someone who must keep going, who cannot stop, who cannot rest, or else be overwhelmed by it all.

Someone who does horrific things, in the name of good.

Of course he’s going to do this horrible thing, then.

Of course he’s going to break Jyn’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chandrila was one of the three New Republic capitals.
> 
> Descriptions of Sernpidal, and Sernpidalians, based off Old EU info on Wookieepedia.
> 
> Shara Bey does not have a sister in canon; Maria is made up, as is Shara being from Sernpidal.
> 
> The Military Disarmament Act is a current EU canon event. Leia did oppose it, as does Cassian in this story.


	5. Rara avis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rara avis: rare bird.
> 
> Or: an extraordinary or unusual thing.

**_Present, 10 ABY_ **

Shara and Kes go to bed shortly after Poe does.

Cassian isn’t tired. He wanders out of his guest room in Maria’s house, and down the stairs, to the sitting room, where he looks out the window at the quiet, dusty road outside.

He’s wide awake, his mind buzzing with the revelations he’s learned today.

Of his grandparents’ names, and their deaths.

Of his mother’s criminal records, of, perhaps, the reason she lived the way she did.

 _She thought she was going to die young, and so she was reckless, and wild_.

Serafima had been forty-seven when she’d died, though not due to Quannot’s Syndrome, but due to a shot from a stormtrooper’s blaster. And she hadn’t died living wildly like she had in her adolescence on Sernpidal, but as a hardworking single mother on Fest.

He doesn’t know why she ended up on Fest.

And he doesn’t know why she decided to _stay_.

Cassian doesn’t even know when she arrived on Fest, exactly. At the latest, 3244 LY, the year before Nerezza was born. Serafima would’ve been thirty that year. That leaves a gap of thirteen years between the warrant for her arrest on Sernpidal and meeting Gabriel Andor on Fest.

He doesn’t know what she did during those years, or who she was, and he expects he’ll never know.

“Still awake, huh?”

He turns, and sees Maria, leaning on the banister, and watching him.

He looks back at her, and shrugs.

Maria studies him for a moment, before coming to some sort of conclusion.

“Come on,” she says. “Let’s go for a walk.”

It isn’t very late, but the sun has long set, and the streets are mostly empty. Cassian and Maria walk slowly, as the dust swirls around their boots. The air is still fairly warm, though there’s a hint of a chill, and Cassian keeps his hands tucked in his jacket pockets.

“Shara and Kes are very fond of you,” Maria says, unexpectedly. “Poe, too.”

“I’m very fond of them, as well.”

Maria looks at him. “Shara once told me you’re like the little brother we never had.”

Her words take Cassian’s breath away. He can picture Shara saying them, and he believes she means them. He feels similarly towards Shara, considers her and Kes and Poe to be part of his very small, living family.

It figures he has another older sister who’s going to die.

“I’m sorry about Shara,” he tells Maria.

“Yes,” Maria says, and she knows what he means, and she doesn’t add anything more. She doesn’t need to.

“I had an older sister, too,” Cassian says, and Maria glances at him, but they keep walking. “She died when I was thirteen. She was… She was my favorite person. Strong, brave, fierce. Everything I wanted to be.”

“That’s how I feel about Shara,” Maria says. “I looked up to her when we were growing up. She was always more outgoing, more vivacious than me. But you knew that; I’m a lawyer, and she’s a kriffing Rebel Alliance x-wing pilot. She’s a hero.”

“She is.”

“It’s absurd, isn’t it?” Maria comments, as they walk past a tall stone museum, thick and skillfully sculpted pillars keeping it standing. “That Shara dies of some awful, rare disease, after surviving a _war_? Just… absurd.”

“She deserves so much more,” Cassian agrees.

“She wanted to see peacetime, so badly,” Maria says, and she’s smiling, though it’s bitter. “Wanted to see Poe grow up in a better galaxy than the one we did. Wanted to just… _Live_.”

Cassian nods, and thinks, inevitably, of Jyn. “It’s not much to ask for.”

They’ve reached a public park, filled with tall grass and blooming flowers, wildflowers, more varied than the neat and pristine flowers Cassian had seen at the vendor’s stand earlier in the day. He and Maria stick to the path, continuing their stroll, and Cassian looks around at the plants, the thin and spindly looking trees, and the soft, warm light coming from lamps every few feet on the path.

“You work for the New Republic, is that right?” Maria asks, breaking the still silence. “For Leia Organa, in Intelligence?”

“Yes,” Cassian says, though he’s quite sure Maria already knows this to be true. “I worked in Rebel Intelligence during the war, and I decided to continue that work for the New Republic.”

“Why?”

Cassian slows, and looks at her. “Why?”

“Why keep doing what you did for so long?” Maria clarifies. “The war’s over, you could do whatever you want to. People are clamoring to hire rebel heroes.”

Cassian laughs, though he knows Maria meant it as a compliment, and likely _means_ it.

“I’m very good at what I do,” he tells her now, and this is the truth.

Cassian has thirty years of experience as a soldier, and nearly twenty in Intelligence. There are very few people who can say the same. He knows he’s valuable, as a spy, as a strategist, as a leader.

“But it’s difficult work, isn’t it?” Maria asks. “I watch the holonet, I’ve heard some stories of everything rebel soldiers had to go through. Shara and Kes don’t talk about the war that much, and that says a lot, right there.”

“It’s difficult, but it’s necessary,” Cassian says. “There are still a lot of Imperial sympathizers out there, especially in the Outer Rim. It’s very easy for a new group to take the Empire’s place out here.”

Maria eyes him. “And you’re going to fight them? This is what you want to do?”

Cassian pauses in his walk, and Maria does too.

They look at each other.

“Did Shara put you up to this? You sound a lot like her.”

Because Shara had said basically the same thing to him, five months before, on Yavin 4.

She’d told him that he could retire, that he _should_ retire. That he could be done.

That he could go back to Jyn, and finally rest.

He knows Shara and Kes are both pretty furious with him and Jyn for separating. And he understands their frustration. He can’t be upset with them for it.

“Just trying to understand,” Maria says, shrugging. “I understand why Shara went to war, and kept fighting, even after Poe was born. But the war is _over_ , and I’m not sure why anyone would want to continue to live a life that makes them feel like it didn’t end.”

Cassian frowns, and turns, continuing the walk. “For some of us there isn’t anything more.”

“But that isn’t true of you.”

He stills, and turns back around.

“Shara’s told me about your wife, over the years,” Maria says. “Jyn, right? She sounds great. When Shara said she’d finally convinced you to come to Sernpidal, I assumed I’d get to meet her, too. Then she told me you got divorced.”

Cassian is unsure where Maria is going with this, and so he waits, standing still on the path.

“I’ve never been married,” Maria continues. “But to go through a war, with someone you love, only to separate at the end of it, just when you can finally begin your lives together? Seems like a hell of a waste.”

“You sound _very_ much like your sister.”

“Shara told you that I’m wise.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Maria sighs.

“I didn’t just ask you to a nighttime stroll for the fun of it,” she says. “We actually have some things to talk about.”

Cassian looks at her, and he waits.

Maria crosses her arms over her chest, and looks back at him, dark brown eyes narrowed.

“Look, Shara’s dying,” she says, voice suddenly sharp, no longer quiet and relaxed. “Probably within the year. And it’s gonna be Kes and Poe, alone, on Yavin 4. And Kes is going to be a mess for the first year, at the _least_. Probably for longer than that. Poe is going to need to see that it’s possible for people to stay together, even in this galaxy. Poe needs to understand that he still has a family. And Shara and Kes have made it very clear they consider you, and Jyn Erso, to be part of their family. So I’m trying to figure out where you stand on _family_ , and what it means to you, because my eight-year-old nephew adores you, and he’s going to pay very close attention to you after Shara’s gone, and I don’t want him growing up thinking family is fleeting, or disposable.”

Cassian stares at Maria, and she stares back, her face serious and composed.

She does look very like Shara, he thinks.

“I don’t think family is disposable,” he says, and he’s almost offended.

“ _Disposable_ might have been harsh,” Maria relents. “But you don’t put it first, and I don’t want Poe growing up with that in his head. Shara would hate that.”

“I’m trying to make sure Poe never has to make that choice,” Cassian says, speaking more quickly now, becoming more assured. “I don’t want him to have to choose between his family, or… Or fighting in a war--”

“But what if you can’t stop it?” Maria asks, her voice rising to meet his. “What if another war happens, in Poe’s lifetime, despite your best efforts? How will your actions, your beliefs, influence what Poe does?”

“If he wants to fight, I’m not going to stop him,” Cassian snaps. “That would be hypocritical of me, so if you’re asking me if I’d keep him out of a war, I’m going to say no, I wouldn’t.”

Maria rolls her eyes. “Poe is Shara’s son, through and through, so I’m quite kriffing confident he’d be the first to sign up. Shara’s already taught him to pilot, for crying out loud, and I hear he’s pretty good. So it isn’t a question of Poe going to war; it’s a question of _why_ would Poe go to war? What does he fight for? What do you teach him to fight for, to value?”

And all the fight drains out of Cassian.

He stands there, three feet away from Maria, whose hands are on her hips, scowling at him.

_What do you teach him to fight for, to value?_

_What do you fight for, Cassian Andor? What do you value?_

“Freedom,” Cassian breathes, and he’s looking at the ground, and Maria seems to sense he isn’t talking to her, because she doesn’t interrupt. “Democracy. Peace.”

He hears his father’s voice in his head, a memory, of the last time he saw him.

_“I believe in freedom, Cassian. I believe in my family, and my friends, and my neighbors. I want a good, free, life for us all. That is why I fight. That is what I am fighting for. Do you understand? What do you think about that?”_

_“I want it,” says six-year-old Cassian, and he does._

_“I hope you will forgive me, for all of this, one day.”_

_“For what, Papa?”_

Cassian is Serafima Cassiano’s son. He has her eyes, and her cheekbones, and her long fingers. He has her air of authority, her confidence, and her ability to run, and hide from her past.

But he realizes suddenly, then, that he is also Gabriel Andor’s son. And not just because he has his hair, his height, or his nose. And not just because he has his charisma, his brilliance, or his conviction.

And not because he devoted himself to Gabriel’s cause.

But because he left his family, like Gabriel did.

_“Most beloved boy,” says Gabriel. “Be kind. Be good.”_

“Democracy, freedom, peace,” Maria says, pulling Cassian back to the present, to this public park on Sernpidal, some thirty years since he last saw his father. “Are these not all things we have, at the moment?”

“They’re worth fighting for,” Cassian says, quietly.

“But it’s all you fight for.”

Cassian looks at her.

“Jyn can teach Poe that there’s more,” he says. “That family is worth fighting for, too. He’ll grow up knowing that.”

“And it wouldn’t be hypocritical of her?”

“No,” Cassian says, firmly. “She’s always fought for her own cause, for what she personally believes in. For herself, for hope, for her family. Not for any… She’s never fought because the Alliance, or the Rebellion, told her to. She has her own moral compass, and so every time she’s fought, it’s been a conscious choice.”

Maria considers this, but Cassian isn’t done.

“She’ll teach Poe that it needs to be a conscious choice,” he continues, softly. “She won’t let him forget… She won’t let him get caught up in a war. He’ll always be there because he wants to be; not because he has to be. It’ll always be a choice for him.”

 _It’s not a choice for me_ , Cassian thinks. _Not anymore_.

Somewhere, along the way, it stopped being a choice, and suffocated him.

He doesn’t know when.

Maybe it was the Second Death Star. Or the Battle of Hoth. Or the Battle of Endor.

Or any of the hundreds of missions he’s gone on, any of the thousands of lives he’s ended.

He was gone by the time the peace talks on Chandrila began.

And he was gone before Jyn decided not to join the New Republic Military.

For the last five years he’s believed Jyn left, first. But she hadn’t. He did. And not that day, four years ago, when he walked out of their apartment on Corellia. But before then.

He hears her voice in his head, five months earlier.

_“You are never going to be done, Cassian! That’s exactly it! You let me believe there was going to be a time when you would be done, and that time was going to be when the war was over! You let me think there was going to be a time where we could go home, the two of us, where we could be happy, and at peace! And then you signed up for the New Republic Military, and you left me! You gave me hope, Cassian, and then you took it away.”_

“She’ll teach Poe to always have hope,” Cassian tells Maria. “She’ll teach him that hope has to be what guides him, in a war. That he can only fight so long as he’s hopeful for peace. For an end. Hopeful for himself.”

He’s suddenly visited by a memory, nine years ago: the one year anniversary of Rogue One.

_“But you don’t think you, yourself, are…” And Jyn trails off, like she can’t bring herself to voice anything more._

_He hears her question all the same: You don’t think you’re good, Cassian?_

_“I’m hopeful that it’s possible for my life, my work, to be worth it,” he says, quietly. “To be judged well. To be validated. But that… I’m not sure about myself. Who I am.”_

He’d known, then, that his relationship with Jyn was going to end one day.

He was going to put the cause before her.

 _But was it the cause?_ He wonders, now. _Was it still the cause, when the war ended, and you left?_

_Or was it something else?_

For the first time, he isn’t sure.

_Why did you leave your wife?_

He thinks of Gabriel, again, leaving Serafima, and what he’d said to his five-year-old son when Cassian had asked why he didn’t live with them anymore.

_“I am sorry I cannot be home more. I would be home more, if I could. If I thought it was the right thing to do. One day, I hope you will understand why I have done the things I have.”_

Cassian is thirty-six years old, and realizes that somewhere along the way, he stopped being Serafima Cassiano’s son, the son of the mother he adored, but Gabriel Andor’s son, the son of the father he understood, but never thought had made the right choices.

“I like that,” Maria says, thoughtfully, and Cassian has almost forgotten she was there. “Teaching Poe to fight for hope. That sounds nice. That sounds like something Shara would want.”

Cassian smiles, and nods. “Yeah.”

“I still want to meet Jyn, but… If she’s your ex-wife and you still speak this well of her, then I’m sold. Poe could have worse people to look up to.”

“Yeah,” Cassian notes. “Like me.”

Maria frowns at him.

“I don’t think you’re a bad role model for him,” she says. “I just wonder that you’ve been in this fight for so long that you might’ve forgotten what the point of it is.”

And he knows that’s Shara, and Kes, talking, sharing their fears with Maria.

And it’s Jyn, talking, too.

 

* * *

 

**_Six years earlier, 4 ABY_ **

Cassian does not react to the news of the construction of a Second Death Star.

He knows he probably should have a reaction, but he really doesn’t, besides calm resignation.

When he’d first heard of the Death Star, four years earlier, simply then known only as the planet killer, he hadn’t been that surprised. It made sense, that the Empire would create something so horrible. And when he’d been told to kill Galen Erso, he’d understood why Galen Erso needed to die immediately, rather than be extracted for debriefing by the Alliance; if Galen Erso had built one Death Star, he could build another.

One to control the Inner Rim, one to terrorize the Outer Rim.

It made sense.

So he isn’t surprised by the news, when Leia sits him down to tell him herself.

“I’m so sorry, Cassian,” she says, and he shakes his head.

“My homeworld was not destroyed by the Death Star,” he says. “I think I should be apologizing to you.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“And neither do you, Leia.”

She considers this, her normally bright brown eyes a little dim, her face more weary than Cassian thinks he has ever seen. Leia is twenty-three years old, but she looks older than her years. There is so much loss, and anger, and pain, in her face, and it makes him ache.

He remembers meeting fifteen-year-old Princess Leia Organa on Alderaan, and how when she’d asked him if he’d help her get into the Alliance, avoiding her cautious father’s likely attempt to keep her out of the dangerous work, that he’d hoped she would ultimately change her mind, and avoid the Rebellion entirely.

Because she was so young, and so bright, and so idealistic.

Eight years later, and he’s sorry, he’s so sorry.

Cassian is thirty years old.

“What’s next?” he asks.

“An emergency summit on Zastiga,” she says. “With the other Alliance leaders. To discuss what to do. We’d like you and Jyn there, as well.”

“Jyn’s with the Pathfinders, on Chandrila.”

Or she was, the last he’d heard. He hasn’t seen her in a month, which isn’t unusual.

“I know,” Leia says. “Kes Dameron is going to tell her about the Second Death Star. If she decides to join us, she’ll meet us on Zastiga.”

Cassian nods.

He doesn’t envy Kes the task of telling Jyn that her father’s most horrific, and final, act has been brought back from the dead.

But he also thinks Kes is the best person to tell her, aside from Cassian himself.

“Let’s go to Zastiga,” he tells Leia, and she nods.

On the flight to Zastiga, Leia tells him the names of the other commanders expected at the meeting, but Cassian fails to internalize them.

He can only see the Second Death Star.

Cassian had never gotten to actually see the first Death Star. He hadn’t managed to get a glimpse of it on Jedha, too busy trying to flee the Holy City’s destruction to pause and check the skies. And he hadn’t even gotten to see it on Scarif, though he’s pretty sure if he had he wouldn’t remember it; he’d been near-delirious with pain when Jyn had carried him out of the citadel, and his memories of the events after are spotty.

So what he pictures in his mind is based off the plans that he’d nearly died to steal, when he’d finally gotten to look through them, after the obliteration of the actual thing.

He remembers mostly thinking that he was glad he’d never had to see it.

It looks like he might get an opportunity now.

He zones out for the rest of the flight.

The conference room on Zastiga is loud, the air thick with anxiety and fear. Cassian shadows Leia through the room, letting her introduce him to the handful of Alliance leaders he’s never met personally. Everyone looks exactly the same; reserved, horror-struck, and nervous.

And then Cassian looks over Ackbar’s shoulder, and sees Jyn.

She’s about eight feet away, and already sitting, though no one else has, and so it almost looks like the Alliance High Command has convened to put her on trial. And she’s staring straight at Cassian, her eyes guarded, her face revealing nothing, though her chin is jutted out with the inherent ferocity that Cassian has long loved in her.

For a moment, the scene looks exactly like the one on Yavin 4, four years earlier, when Jyn had been brought to the Alliance as a way to get to Saw Gerrera, and to the Imperial defector who supposedly carried proof of a planet killer.

When Cassian had seen Jyn for the first time, and been introduced to her.

It is so similar, it almost makes him want to laugh.

But he changes the scene, by walking over to her, and sitting in the chair next to her.

And she looks at him with familiarity, with understanding, with devotion.

With trust.

They’re here, again, facing a planet killer.

He wonders if this will be the one that kills them.

The room is filled with military leaders, and Cassian knows Jyn hates any kind of public display of affection, but he throws caution to the wind, and takes her hand.

She either realizes how much comfort he’s drawing from seeing her, here, or she needs his touch just as much, because she holds his hand tightly in hers.

 _I’m so sorry_ , he thinks, and he understands why Leia had apologized to him.

There’s nothing else to say.

Because she’s not okay. Because he’s not okay. Because none of this is okay. Because Rogue One died to destroy the Death Star, and now there’s another one, so what did Rogue One die for? Four years of borrowed time?

Cassian has long suspected he and Jyn should have died on Scarif, that their time since has only been borrowed, and he wonders if this is a confirmation.

“Is this why we survived?” Jyn whispers, and he realizes she’d been thinking along the exact same lines as him. “To destroy another one?”

But as per usual, she’s more optimistic.

She thinks they lived to destroy the Death Star, again, while Cassian thinks they never should have lived.

He wonders if she’s right.

The most optimistic thing Cassian has ever thought about their survival is that they lived to make Rogue One proud, and he knows, absolutely, that destroying another Death Star would make them all very proud.

“We can do it again,” he says, and hopes he sounds more confident than he feels.

Jyn only looks at him.

The commanders settle down, and General Madine briefly describes how the Alliance came to learn of the Second Death Star, through a Bothan network of spies. The Second Death Star is being built over Endor, a moon in the Outer Rim. It is not completed yet, but rather, looks more or less like a skeleton of the first.

Cassian thinks this is fitting.

He and Jyn listen as the leaders begin to discuss options.

The biggest problem is that the Alliance Fleet has been scattered since the Battle of Hoth, and so it’s going to take time to regroup for a controlled run attack on the Second Death Star. But they also need to strike, quickly, before the Death Star has been covered and made operational; they don’t have the plans for it, and so they don’t know how the Empire has modified it from the original.

Everyone looks at Cassian and Jyn as this is said, but they say nothing.

It is Leia who comes up with a plan.

She suggests that she diverts Imperial attention to a far away sector, while the Alliance Fleet gathers elsewhere. She’ll use hyper-transceivers to bring attention to herself, under the guise of a recruitment move by the Alliance.

She looks at Cassian as she offers this plan, and Cassian knows why.

She needs his support.

Because they’ll have to use Alliance codes that the Empire has cracked, to ensure the Empire gets the message.

Because this plan could send hundreds of potential recruits to their deaths.

The room erupts once this aspect of the plan sinks in. Mon Mothma looks horrified, her eyes wide and mouth tense, with other leaders mirroring her expression. Admiral Massa is shaking his head, while Ackbar blinks his large, bulbous eyes, not giving anything away.

But Leia only looks at Cassian, and he sees determination in her gaze, and he understands.

It’s a good plan. It’s the best they have.

He says as much, and the room quiets a little.

“We could lose hundreds of recruits, Major Andor,” Mothma says, eyeing him. She doesn’t sound frustrated, or like she disagrees, though; she sounds like she wants to be convinced but doesn’t quite believe she will be.

“We’ll lose millions more with the Death Star,” Cassian replies. “And it won’t matter how many soldiers we have, then. The Death Star will annihilate entire systems.”

Leia nods, and eyes flicker towards her as Cassian speaks, and he knows that as an Alderaanian, she’s just as notorious and uncomfortable in this room as he is.

“And any recruits…” Jyn pauses, as the room turns to look at her, Cassian included.

She looks almost a little surprised at her own voice.

“If they’re really answering Princess Leia’s call to join the Alliance,” she says, “Then they would understand. Why the Alliance decided to go with this plan, and sacrifice them. They’d understand.”

Cassian knows this statement, this belief, has cost her.

Because even if it’s understandable, it isn’t entirely _right_. They’d still be sacrificing people without their consent, their knowledge; people who are not actually Alliance, who might decide they don’t want to be. Who might learn of such a plan and decide the Alliance, the cause, is not one they want to align themselves with, not one they want to fight for.

Every now and then, Cassian fears the Alliance is as bad as the Empire.

He knows, instinctively, and with evidence, that this isn’t true.

But the Alliance does authorize horrific things.

He can still picture Jyn, four years ago, soaking wet on the stolen Imperial shuttle after Eadu, her face all fire and righteous fury, as she leveled him, as she said he might as well be a stormtrooper, with his single-minded loyalty to the Alliance.

_“Those were Alliance bombs that killed him.”_

She’s grown to understand why Galen Erso had died on Eadu, but Cassian is not sure she’s ever accepted the reasoning behind it.

She’s going along with a similar plan now, the sacrifice of unwitting, and innocent, recruits, in order to allow the Alliance Fleet to assemble, in order to destroy something that would kill millions of more lives.

The greater good, where _good_ feels relative.

Jyn looks away from Cassian, and he wishes he could say something to help her deal with this choice, help her accept her own decision.

But he can’t think of anything.

He’s made countless decisions like this before, and long been haunted by them.

He never wanted this for her.

He listens, numb, as Mothma eventually comes to agree with Leia’s proposal.

Operation Yellow Moon is a go.

Cassian follows Jyn out of the meeting, and no one, not even Leia, tries to stop them.

He follows Jyn out of the Alliance safe house, and outside, into the night.

Zastiga is a small, rocky Outer Rim planet. Mountains and cliffs dominate its surface, and so Cassian follows Jyn through a small ravine, gray stone on either side of them. He doesn’t know where she’s going, and he suspects she doesn’t know, either. Away from the Alliance is the short answer.

She stops when she reaches a cliff, a steep two-hundred foot drop down to sharp rock below.

She turns on her heel, and faces him.

“Do you feel like this all the time?” She asks, and as far as conversation starters go, this is a remarkable one.

He almost smiles.

“You’re starting to see what I mean, when I say I’ve done truly terrible things for the cause,” he says.

Jyn shakes her head, and looks at the rocky ground, kicking a loose stone with her boot. “I feel… Frustrated. Angry. Sad. This is _awful_ , but I… I don’t know what else we could do. We have to get the Fleet together, before the Death Star can be finished, but I…”

She sighs. “It’s so much.”

“It’s an imprecise feeling,” Cassian says, quietly.

It’s fear. And pain. And sorrow. And righteousness. And fury. And resignation.

And the feeling of having no other choice, dancing forever on the line of _hopelessness_.

“And it never goes away,” he says.

“And this is what you mean when you promise _All the way_ , right?”

Cassian blinks at her.

“You mean you’re with me through this feeling,” she says. “Through the appalling things I have to do for this cause. That there isn’t anything I do for the Alliance that you can’t forgive, can’t understand. You’re with me through all of it.”

“Of course,” Cassian says.

Jyn nods, but she still looks so sad.

“I get you, more, now,” she says. “Why you are the way you are. I can’t imagine living with this feeling, for so long.”

“I hope this is the only time you have it,” Cassian says, and he means it.

“This plan isn’t right.”

“No.”

This plan may kill innocent people, and that isn’t right.

But it might help save millions, and that is good.

“I’m in the Alliance to _save_ people,” Jyn says, and her eyes are shining with tears, visible only by the harsh white moonlight from over them, the dark sky beyond the edge of the cliff. “Good people, innocent people, and now, I’m… I’m killing them?”

Cassian exhales.

“We have to, sometimes,” he murmurs.

“You have.”

“More times than I’d like to remember,” he confirms.

“And you do it, every time you have to,” Jyn continues. “And Leia would, too. And I… I’m not sure I could.”

Cassian smiles. “You get now why I say you’re better than me?”

But Jyn only looks at him.

“No,” she says. “Because I think it means _you’re_ better.”

And Cassian is so surprised by this that he loses any train of thought.

He stares at Jyn, standing three feet in front of him.

“Asori, and Travia,” she says, “They told me, again and again, how loyal you are to the cause. How you’d do anything for it, and how you’ve given up so much. You sacrifice so much of yourself for the cause, and the Alliance, and you never want anything in return for _you_ , because your sacrifice helps the galaxy. You sacrifice your morality, and your peace, to kill innocent people for the cause.” She shrugs. “It doesn’t seem like much of a stretch to say that you die a little, with the people you kill.”

“That doesn’t make me good. Not at all.”

Jyn smiles.

“It makes you righteous,” Jyn says. “It creates an opportunity for someone else to do something good. Something _better_. For someone else to be good, even though it leaves you convinced you’re bad. Someone else benefits from your… work, and with Leia’s plan, that someone is the kriffing galaxy. That’s remarkable, Cassian.”

Cassian opens his mouth, and then closes it.

He’s never heard anything like this before, never heard his abhorrent crimes from this perspective.

“That’s how you see me?” he asks.

“I have a better view of the future than you do, Cassian,” Jyn says, thoughtfully. “You’re too stuck in your own head, in the present, and the past. But in the future, when the war ends--”

“ _If_ the war ends--”

“ _When_ the war ends,” Jyn says, pushing ahead and ignoring his interruption, “The galaxy is going to be very grateful for men like you. Good men who did horrible things for the rest of us. _Selfless_ men, like Cassian Andor.”

“No one’s going to remember my name,” Cassian says, because he can’t think of anything else to say.

“I will,” Jyn insists. “Leia will. Kes, Shara, _Poe_. Travia, Asori, kriff, even morons like Han Solo--”

“You’ve made your point,” Cassian says, sharply.

He looks at Jyn, and he is overwhelmed by her, standing there, in the brilliant white moonlight, gray rock as far as the eye can see.

He wishes he saw himself like she does.

He wonders if maybe, if he sticks by her long enough, that he one day will.

He’s been in love with her for four years, and he still doesn’t know what to do with her devotion. What to make of it. How to show her he loves her just as much, how grateful he is for her.

How even if they weren’t meant to survive, that they did.

_Why did we survive?_

To make Rogue One proud. To destroy a Second Death Star. To keep going, to keep fighting.

To have each other, even in the war.

In the war, that at the moment, with another Death Star on the horizon, seems unlikely to ever end, or turn in their favor. Because they destroyed the first one, and the war raged on.

Jyn believes the war will end. She’s hopeful, and optimistic, and resilient, and Cassian loves her for this like he’s never loved anyone else, and never will.

Jyn’s next words send a bolt of lightning through him.

“Marry me.”

He stares at her, his mouth dropping open slightly.

This is a fair reaction, he thinks.

“What?” He asks, and he knows he sounds startled, sounds shocked, because he is.

She almost looks like she wants to laugh at the clear astonishment on his face, but she seems to not be kidding about this, and she wants him to understand that.

“Marry me,” she says again, more firmly this time.

“Why?”

“Because I’m in love with you,” she says, and this is not the first time she’s told him this, or even the hundredth, but he’s still a little shocked by it. “And that’s not going to change. It just… It won’t. And you make me so happy, and you make me _hopeful_ , and you… You’re still _here_.”

“You want to marry me,” Cassian says, speaking slowly, over enunciating the words, drawing them out, his eyes still very wide and stunned.

“Yes. I want to marry you.”

“But… _now?_ ” He asks. “The war isn’t over--”

“I know,” Jyn says, and she swallows.

 _The war will never be over_ , Cassian thinks.

“I know, but I’m with you, and I want to be with you,” she says. “And you ground me. You remind me of why I’m here, what I’m fighting for.”

Because he’s fighting for people like her, who are so hopeful, so resilient, so brave.

People who are still good, still believe they can be good.

Cassian doesn’t believe he’s one of them, but he can try.

He looks at Jyn, at her faith in him, and wonders. Maybe it’s possible.

He wants to remember that, to always be near that, her faith in him.

“I want to marry you,” she says again. “So, uh. What do you think?”

It isn’t graceful, or even romantic, really, but that’s been the story of their relationship so far.

It’s been surprising. And difficult. But honest, and compassionate.

Jyn stares at him, her eyes searching his face.

After what feels like hours, but is probably only seconds, he nods, and a smile slowly grows over his face.

“Yeah,” he says. “All right.”

It isn’t graceful, or even romantic, really.

But it’s an honest answer, and she’s delighted by it.

He crosses the short distance between them, and kisses her.

He can feel her smiling, and he smiles too.

Because it’s Jyn, the moonlight on her face, her green eyes wide and full of light, gray rock behind her, as far as the eye can see.

And he’s so in love with her, and she’s so in love with him, and he thinks he has never been happier, never been more content.

For a moment, he forgets what has brought them to Zastiga.

For a moment, Cassian can’t see any end.

No end of the war.

And no end of them.

 

* * *

 

**_Present, 10 ABY_ **

In the morning, Cassian goes to the Port of Sernpidal City with Shara and Poe. Poe delights in watching the ships coming in and out of the port, and Cassian can’t help but remember how he’d do the same thing, when he was Poe’s age, with the ships at the Port of Fulcra on Fest.

But Poe can recognize and identify each ship by model and year, and Cassian has never been able to do this.

He doesn’t try to hide how impressed he is by Poe’s knowledge, while Shara smiles, amused, and proud of her son.

Cassian looks at them, at mother and son, and thinks of his conversation with Maria, the night before.

He wonders what he can offer Poe, what he can teach him, that Shara would appreciate.

_“So it isn’t a question of Poe going to war; it’s a question of why would Poe go to war? What does he fight for? What do you teach him to fight for, to value?”_

He looks at Poe Dameron, eight years old, with his mother’s bright eyes and his father’s smile, and he wonders.

“This afternoon, we’re going to the entertainment district Maria and I spent a lot of time in, as teenagers,” Shara tells Cassian, on the public transport taking them back to Maria’s house. “There are a lot of arcades, things Poe will get a kick out of. Do you want to come with us, or are you going to see if you can speak to Yakovi Cassiano?”

Cassian sighs.

Maria had told him about Yakovi Cassiano, as they’d walked back to her house, the night before. According to her, he’s Serafima’s cousin, the son of her uncle, and therefore, Cassian’s second cousin. He’s the most well-known member of the now-decimated Cassiano family, the one most knowledgeable about the family history as talented and sought after potters.

He’s the one most likely to have known Serafima as a child, and a teenager.

To Shara now, Cassian nods in answer to her question.

“Yeah,” he says. “I don’t know if he’ll see me, but I… It’s worth a shot.”

Shara nods, her eyes on Poe, whose face is all but pressed to the glass window of the transport, watching the city as they fly past it.

“Certainly,” she agrees. “What will you say to him?”

“That I’m Serafima’s son, and I’d like to know more about her.”

Shara nods again, not taking her eyes off her own son.

“That sounds reasonable,” she says, softly.

Cassian looks at her, and then reaches forward, taking her hand in his.

“He won’t forget you, Shara.”

“You’ve forgotten so much of your mother, and you were older than Poe when she died,” Shara says, her voice breaking a little. She speaks quietly, so Poe can’t hear her, though Cassian is fairly sure nothing could distract him from his enthusiastic observation of the city.

“You’re more open with Poe than my mother was with me,” Cassian murmurs. “My mother would never talk to me about herself, and our time together was so limited, because she had to work so much to keep my siblings and me housed, and fed. And I had a difficult time understanding her, because she supported the Empire, and I was already fighting for the Rebellion.”

Shara looks at him.

“I missed so much of Poe’s first two years,” she whispers.

“He doesn’t remember any of that. No one does. You’ve been with him for the last six years, and he’ll have that. He’ll _remember_ that, Shara.”

“Stay close to him,” Shara says, but her voice lilts at the end in a question. “He… He needs to know he’ll be just fine without me. And you, Cass, you lost your mother so young… I want him to see you, see how well you’ve done for yourself, without her.”

Cassian nods. “Of course.”

“You know, it’s almost funny,” Shara says, suddenly smiling. “It’s… I look at Poe, and I think of how much he’s like me. Personality-wise, mostly. I mean, he has my eyes, but… It’s more than that.”

“Yes,” Cassian agrees.

“And I know you think the galaxy is going to end up back in war again,” Shara continues, “And I know that this is why you haven’t left the military, why you haven’t retired. I know it’s why you left Jyn.”

“Yes,” Cassian says, again, because he can’t disagree.

“And since Poe is like me, if… if war does come, he’s going to sign up. And it’s almost funny, because… He’s going to have you, there, isn’t he? With him, on the frontlines? Kes won’t go back, and Jyn won’t either, but Poe is going to be a pilot, and he’ll have you and Leia there with him, on whatever base the New Republic establishes, and he won’t be alone. He’ll still have family in war.”

Cassian smiles. “He’ll know what he’s fighting for, everyday.”

Poe Dameron will not forget. Unlike Cassian Andor.

“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” Shara says. “I’m not worried about Poe forgetting why he fights. I don’t think war is going to start up anytime soon. I think he’ll be older when he signs up, so he won’t… It won’t be everything he knows. He’ll always have more.”

“Unlike me.”

“Well… Yes,” Shara says, grimacing.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s definitely a good thing to want for your son.” Cassian smiles. “I’m glad to think I can be with him, in… in the next war.”

But as Cassian speaks, he thinks of how much he doesn’t _want_ the next war.

He doesn’t want it for Poe Dameron.

And he doesn’t even want it for himself.

Shara almost seems to read his mind, with her next words.

“But don’t stay for Poe,” she says. “There might very well not be a war, and Poe will never enlist, and will become something else entirely. So, don’t… Don’t think you have to keep fighting so Poe has someone who loves him, leading him in the New Republic Military. Leia will have that covered, regardless.”

Because of course Leia will be there.

With Han Solo, her husband, who still fights with enthusiasm, and devotion.

And with her son, Ben, the future jedi.

And her brother, Luke, the living legend, the savior of the galaxy as they all know it.

Leia, with her complete family, will take Poe in, treat him as their own.

They don’t actually need Cassian.

He is not offended, or left feeling saddened by this realization.

Rather, he’s surprised.

Because he doesn’t _want_ this next war.

And he realizes now that he doesn’t have to be there.

Not for Poe Dameron. Not for Leia Organa, who has said before she will accept his resignation, his retirement, at anytime. Not for Shara Bey, who will not live to see any next war, will not live to turn down an offer of assignment.

Because if Cassian Andor fights for family, for the people he loves, so they can live a better life than him; then it makes no sense for him to fight in the next war.

But if he’s not fighting, if he isn’t a soldier, or a rebel, or a spy, then who is he?

He sits in silence, and he thinks, and he watches as Shara gets out of her seat to crouch beside her son, looking out the window with him, and smiling at her son’s delight as they fly through the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mothers and sons feature heavily in this story.
> 
> Operation Yellow Moon/Zastiga was an Old EU canon event. (Might still be canon; don't know, don't really care.) It was suggested by Leia.
> 
> The lines "an imprecise feeling/that never goes away" were stolen/inspired by my best friend, Megan, who writes the most lovely poetry on tumblr. I got permission to use them here. She has read/been with me every step of the way for this story, and I am very grateful to her.


	6. Damnatio memoriae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damnatio memoriae: condemnation of memory.
> 
> Or: a person that must not be remembered.

**_Present, 10 ABY_ **

Yakovi Cassiano lives in the upper class neighborhood of Sernpidal City, where the houses are shades of gleaming whites and sparkling silver, high on the cliffs on the edge of the capital city, overlooking one of Sernpidal’s many seas.

Cassian feels very uncomfortable, and very out of place.

He has no idea what he’s doing, as he walks up the long sand road leading to Yakovi Cassiano’s very secluded, very large house, based off the address Maria got from a mutual friend. He’s feeling more nervous than he remembers feeling on most of the missions he’s undergone for the Rebellion, and he thinks this is probably a bad sign, or at least a sign that he should turn around and go back to Maria’s house, and forget about this whole thing.

But he’s so curious.

He’s waited thirty-six years to really meet Serafima Cassiano, and this is as close as he will ever get.

Yakovi Cassiano’s house is huge, an almost painfully brilliant white, the soft Sernpidal sun hitting its shimmering surface and spiraling sunlight in all directions. The yard has been immaculately gardened, with flowers of all colors and shades covering every inch of space, tall vines wrapping around the windows and doors of the house.

It is so bright, and colorful, and it looks nothing like the little black house Serafima had lived in with her children on Fest, during the last years of her life.

Cassian would likely have turned around and left at this point, were it not for him being spotted by a gardener.

“Are you lost?” The gardener asks, and Cassian almost wants to laugh, because it would not be incorrect to say that he is very lost.

“No, I…” He sighs, and walks closer to the gardener. The man is crouched in a thicket of rose bushes, pruning them with shears, a floppy hat shielding his eyes from the sun. He peers up at Cassian, but there is not suspicion in his expression; only faint curiosity.

“I was thinking of trying to meet Yakovi Cassiano,” Cassian says. “But I think that’s a mistake.”

“Mr. Cassiano does not often get foreign visitors,” the gardener replies, likely tipped off to Cassian’s non-Sernpidalian background due to his different accent. “Where are you from?”

“Fest.”

“Not so far.”

“No,” Cassian agrees, because it isn’t that far, really; Fest is on this side of the Outer Rim, only a few quadrants away.

“But we do not get many Festians on Sernpidal,” the gardener continues. “What brings you to our world?”

 _What, indeed_.

“Yakovi Cassiano is related to my mother,” Cassian says. “She died when I was a child, and I… I thought maybe he could tell me about her.”

“Hm.”

The gardener slowly gets to his feet, and Cassian sees that he’s slightly taller than Cassian, with wrinkled brown skin a shade or two lighter, and thin white hair, curling around his eyes. He looks to be close to seventy years old, and clean shaven, and his wide brown eyes narrow as he surveys Cassian.

“Mr. Cassiano would be related to you too, then?”

“Second cousin,” Cassian says. “He is my mother’s cousin.”

The gardener considers this, eyes darting around Cassian’s face. The gardener lifts a hand, and rests it on his own chin in thought, and Cassian spots a heavy gold ring on the gardener’s right index finger, emblazoned with some kind of symbol, and he instantly realizes who he’s really been talking to this whole time.

“You are Fima’s son,” Yakovi Cassiano says.

“Fima?” Cassian repeats.

“Serafima, but we never called her by her full name,” Yakovi Cassiano says. “Her parents certainly tried to; my uncle, her father, in particular preferred her full name over the nickname she adopted, as Fima is typically a name for boys. But Serafima was always… a bit of a rebel.”

Cassian feels a smile grow over his face.

He knows what it’s like to be a bit of a rebel, too.

“Serafima Cassiano was my mother,” he confirms, and he thinks he’s never been more proud to say it, to acknowledge her.

“So we are cousins,” Yakovi Cassiano says, smiling. He holds out his hand. “I am Yakovi Cassiano. What is your name?”

“Cassian Andor,” Cassian says, and he shakes the man’s hand.

Yakovi bursts out laughing.

“Cassian, not Cassiano,” Yakovi says. “Ah. Fima would do that. An acknowledgement to her father’s family name, while also making sure it was of her own making. She always did things her own way. My rebel cousin.”

“You have no idea,” Cassian says, and Yakovi’s smile grows.

“Please, come in, Cassian Andor,” Yakovi says. “Tell me what became of my favorite cousin, and I will try to give you the answers you seek.”

 

* * *

 

The inside of Yakovi Cassiano’s house is just as opulent as the outside.

Cassian stands as still as he can, convinced he’s spreading dirt and grime just by existing.

Yakovi directs him to the back porch, revealing that the house backs up to a cliffside, with a long wooden staircase leading down to a beach, some fifty meters below, meeting the sea. The sea is a dark blue, and stretches as far as the eye can see, and Cassian expects the sunsets here are absolutely glorious.

He sits at a thin white table, and stares out at the sea, until Yakovi returns with a tray covered with various Sernpidalian foods, and wine.

“This is quite a surprise,” Yakovi says, sitting down across from Cassian and immediately pouring them both generous glasses of dark red wine. “I had no idea we were related.”

“You had no idea Serafima married, and had children?”

“Oh, that too,” Yakovi says. “But I had no idea I was related to Cassian Andor.”

“You… You know who I am?”

Yakovi smiles.

“I did not fight in the war,” he says. “Sernpidal was very removed from the Empire’s reach, and I am ashamed to say I never understood the full extent of the Empire’s atrocities, its horrors. It never seemed like something worth taking up arms against.”

Cassian nods, because he’s heard this before, and isn’t too bothered by it. Anymore, at least.

“When the war ended, and reports of all that the Empire had been doing began to come out, I was riveted,” Yakovi continues. “I read everything I could. I felt such shame, such anger, at the Empire, and was entirely impressed with and beholden to the soldiers who took it down. When I came across your name, I remembered it, because it sounded so much like my own. It let me believe, foolishly, that perhaps if I had fought, I could have done something as heroic as help destroy the Death Star.”

And Cassian doesn’t know what to say to this.

“I thought our eyes looked a little alike,” Yakovi continues, and even though the man’s eyes are some forty years older than Cassian’s, Cassian thinks this too. “But I did not dwell on it. I thought it was wishful thinking. It never once occurred to me that you were Fima’s son.”

“Quite understandable.”

“Now that I see you in person, it’s obvious; you do have her eyes, exactly.”

“Yes.”

“Please; what happened to her?”

Cassian looks at Yakovi, and then he begins to speak.

He tells him that Serafima traveled to Fest, and met Gabriel Andor. He tells him that she had three children: Nerezza, Zeferino, and Cassian. He tells him that she was a potter on Fest, that her pieces were sought after, were widely praised, were beautiful and admired by every Festian who came across them.

He tells him that Serafima and Gabriel separated when Cassian was a child, and that Gabriel died, and Serafima raised her children alone for four years. He tells him that Serafima never liked to talk of Sernpidal, and never spoke of her family there, that Cassian grew up knowing nothing about them. He tells him that everything he knows of Serafima now, her history as a criminal, the fact that Cassian was named after her family, has all been learned by him in the years after she died.

He tells Yakovi that Serafima has been dead for twenty-six years.

“Twenty-six years,” Yakovi breathes, running a hand over his face. “By Tosi-karu.”

“By… Sorry, who?”

“Tosi-karu,” Yakovi says. “A goddess to the native Sernpidalian species. They are very religious, deeply spiritual, and Tosi-karu is one of their most revered deities.”

“What’s she a goddess of?”

“Annihilation,” Yakovi says. “When we first heard of the destruction of Alderaan, many Sernpidalians took it to mean the arrival of Tosi-karu herself, that she was, perhaps, coming for us. Intent on our obliteration.”

Cassian thinks this is fitting.

He imagines Tosi-karu would be very fond of him.

“I am sorry to hear Fima has been gone for so long,” Yakovi says. “We always thought she’d died long ago, but I liked to think she was happy, somewhere. Was she happy on Fest?”

“I like to think so,” Cassian says, softly. “She loved us. My siblings, and me. And I think she loved my father, still, even after he left her. He died, and that… It made it easier to forgive him.”

Because there was always a chance, then, that Gabriel might have come back to her, eventually, had he lived.

_“Because I want to know when you’re dead.”_

_“Kriff, Jyn You really do hate me.”_

_“I don’t mean it like that. I mean… I can let you go, then. When you’re definitely gone. When you’re definitely not coming back. Not coming back to me.”_

Cassian blinks, forcing Jyn’s sorrowful face out of his mind.

“Fest,” he says to Yakovi. “Do you know why she would have gone there?”

“No,” Yakovi says, looking at his glass of wine. “It’s a cold world, isn’t it? Snowy? Gray?”

“Gray,” Cassian confirms, because he has long believed this is the only possible way to summarize what Fest is, what it means to him personally.

“Very unlike Sernpidal, I take it?” Yakovi asks, smirking, waving a hand towards the close, sterling sun, the sparkling dark blue ocean.

Cassian smiles. “Couldn’t be any more different.”

“Hm,” Yakovi murmurs.

He turns back to Cassian.

“You have two older siblings?”

“I did. They’re both dead. Nerezza died twenty-three years ago, and Zeferino died sixteen years ago.”

“And your father is gone, too?”

“Yes. Dead for thirty years.”

“Are you married?”

Cassian is a little startled by this rapid fire of questions, but doesn’t mind answering them. “Not anymore.”

“But you were? Did your spouse die?”

Cassian thinks this is not an unfair assumption to make, considering that the rest of his family has long been dead. “No, she’s alive. We’re divorced.”

“Ah,” Yakovi says, face sympathetic. “I’m sorry. Do you have children?”

“No.”

“It’s just you, then.”

Cassian looks at Yakovi for a moment, still a little lost as to where this is going. “Yes.”

“That makes things easier,” Yakovi says.

“I’m sorry, but… What things?”

“Let me show you,” Yakovi says, getting to his feet, and heading back into the house. Cassian has no choice but to follow.

Yakovi moves quickly, for such an old man, and he tells Cassian that living in this spacious house keeps him mobile, and fairly spry. The house, he says, belonged to his grandparents; Cassian’s great-grandparents.

“I spent many happy days in this house, as a child,” he tells Cassian, leading him up a long, curving staircase. “My grandparents delighted in having the grandchildren over, and it was in this house that they taught us how to make our famous pottery. I learned alongside Fima.”

“Oh,” Cassian breathes.

“The Cassiano family pottery can be seen all over the galaxy,” Yakovi says. “From the Core Worlds, to the homes of wealthy aristocrats and slumlords in the Outer Rim. I have records of pieces decorating the halls of buildings in the Old Republic, including the Senate, and the Galactic Opera House, on Coruscant. Kings and queens from all sorts of worlds would buy from us, and so the name, and the art, is very revered.”

Cassian believes Yakovi, and isn’t surprised that this is the first time he’s hearing of any of this. He never studied art, or pottery, and never has had an eye for it.

He’s been in the Galactic Opera House before, but it was over sixteen years ago, and his memories of his time in the building are some of his worst.

“But I am the only one left,” Yakovi continues. “My grandparents are long dead, and my mother died fifteen years ago. My father is still alive, but we are estranged; he has his own mansion, remote, on the other side of the planet. My sister died some forty years ago, in childbirth, and her son died twenty years ago. He was one of the few who left Sernpidal to fight in the war. I had two other cousins, aside from your mother, and they’ve both died in the past decade. One from cancer, one from Quannot’s.”

He suddenly stops on the stairs, and turns back to Cassian, face grave.

“I should tell you, Cassian, that Quannot’s--”

“Runs in the Cassianos,” Cassian finishes. “It killed both my grandparents. I’ve been told.”

“Ah, good,” Yakovi says. “Wicked disease. I pray you do not inherit it, like you so clearly inherited your mother’s eyes.”

Cassian nods. He prays for this, as well.

“Cassianos don’t tend to live for very long,” Yakovi says. “My father and myself being the exceptions, it seems. It is a good thing you are an Andor, then, is it not?”

Cassian doesn’t even know what being an Andor means. His father’s parents had died long before Cassian was born, and Gabriel occasionally spoke to Cassian of them, describing his father as a schoolteacher and his mother as a nurse. He’d been fond of them, but never led Cassian to believe there was anything particularly remarkable about them.

Andors don’t seem to live for very long, either.

He follows Yakovi into a room that Yakovi refers to as a study, but which is big enough for Cassian to consider it more of a library.

Books line the walls, from floor to ceiling, books of all shapes and sizes, titles in Basic and what Cassian recognizes as Sernpidalian. He follows slowly behind Yakovi, staring around, at the skylights on the ceiling, sending warm sunlight into the room, and at the thick and expensive-looking armchairs that litter the room, the ornate lamps and heavy wooden desks every few feet.

Shara had told him that the Cassianos were wealthy, but this feels like something else entirely.

He thinks of Serafima, of her inherent regality, and he realizes that she grew up wealthy, and that she grew up on a planet that knew it. She grew up well-known, and famous; she grew up with people respecting her for her name, with the understanding that it was a name that was valuable. She grew up being admired, and she grew up with confidence, a confidence and authority that she carried with her to Fest, even though Fest was a planet where she was anonymous, where she was an outsider.

Cassian grew up poor on Fest, with his mother working two jobs to support her family after Cassian’s father had died, and he looks around the library, and he wonders.

He wonders why, with Gabriel dead, she hadn’t contacted her remaining family, including Yakovi, back on Sernpidal, to ask for help. He understands why she hadn’t returned to Sernpidal; she’d been a wanted criminal, and she likely would have been arrested, and her children’s fates would then become uncertain.

He looks at Yakovi, and he wonders.

“Here,” Yakovi says, retrieving several huge volumes from the wall, and laying them out on a desk. He flips through one for a moment, stopping at a page, and then turns the book towards Cassian.

Pages of documents slide out, all written in neat Sernpidalian, and Cassian cannot read anything except for the word Cassiano.

He says as much to Yakovi, and the man laughs.

“Ah, yes,” he says. “Sorry, I forgot you likely did not read our familial language. These are papers that belonged to your grandfather, Anton, and his wife Talia, your grandmother.”

“What do they say?”

“Anton was a talented potter,” Yakovi says. “And he worked well up until the week he died. His pottery was his work, but it was also his hobby, something he enjoyed doing. He grew quite wealthy from it, alongside the family fortune he inherited from his own parents, split only between his brother and himself. And Fima was his only child.”

As he speaks, Yakovi shuffles the papers together, and hands them to Cassian, who takes them automatically, still bewildered.

“You are Anton’s only living descendant,” Yakovi says, smiling. “So; you are his only heir. Congratulations, Cassian Andor. You are now a very wealthy man.”

Cassian can only stare at Yakovi.

“I…” He starts, and shakes his head. “That’s not why I’m here, Yakovi.”

“No, I expect not,” Yakovi says. “But since you are here, I wanted to give you the inheritance you are owed. I am an old man, and I have no heirs; my portion of the Cassiano fortune will be donated back to the city, to the museums, and the art schools. I was going to do the same with the fortune owed to Fima, as she disappeared without a trace, and I was never able to find her. But now you are here, and so…”

He shrugs, still smiling.

“I could be lying,” Cassian says, almost blurting out the words, still in a state of shock. “You’ve read about me. You know I was a spy in the war.”

“You could be,” Yakovi agrees. “But I do not think you are. I do not believe a man who devoted himself so wholeheartedly to the Rebellion would make a trek out to Sernpidal, to search out an old man, to tell the old man such a rich history of his long lost cousin, all for an inheritance. And, I know I have already said this about your eyes, but: you look very much like your mother.”

Cassian looks away from Yakovi, and down at the documents in his hands.

He can’t read any of them, and so he doesn’t know how much of an inheritance he has been handed, but Yakovi calling him a very wealthy man, while standing in this beautiful house, says a lot.

He looks back up at the man.

“I grew up poor, on Fest,” he tells him. “My mother worked two jobs to care for us, and she never complained, but I could see that she was scared she would lose the house, scared we would be taken from her. I want to know; why did she never contact you, and ask for help, if she was owed her father’s fortune?”

Yakovi sighs, and for a moment looks very much like the old man he is.

“Sit, please, Cassian,” he says, gesturing to one of the mammoth armchairs that fill the room.

They sit, facing each other.

“My father’s name is Akim,” Yakovi says. “He was Anton’s older brother. He was a potter, too, but he also ran the family business, and the finances. He worked with a small network of cousins, with museums, keeping an eye on every piece made by the Cassianos. He was… He was a good father, but he…”

Yakovi gestures around the room.

“He was greedy,” he says, plainly. “He hoarded wealth. It was… It was a point of contention with his brother, who disagreed with his philosophy. Anton was also quite wealthy, and he intended to leave his portion of the family fortune to his daughter, as was his right. But my father… Fima’s mother died when she was a child, and then Anton died when she was only a little older, maybe a teenager; she couldn’t have been older than thirteen. And my father refused to take her in.”

“He refused to take in his own niece?” Cassian asks, stunned.

Yakovi nods, grim.

“I am not proud of my father’s choices,” he says, softly. “My mother disagreed, I believe, but she did not fight him too much. I was younger than Fima, and I didn’t understand what was happening. All I knew was that I suddenly no longer saw my cousin anymore, not even in this house.”

“What happened to her?”

“I think she realized she was on her own,” Yakovi says. “I imagine she was aware of her father’s fortune, but believed it was lost to her, due to her uncle’s actions. She was so young; she couldn’t have known that she’d automatically inherit the trust when she was eighteen, regardless of her uncle’s attempts to hide it from her. If she did, she might have gone to the orphanage, and bided her time. But as it is…” Yakovi shrugs. “She did what she had to do, to survive.”

She stole. She lied. She ran.

She survived.

Serafima Cassiano was a survivor.

(And Cassian has always been nothing if not a survivor.)

“My father kept an eye on her,” Yakovi says. “He had a lot of influence, as you can imagine, so the police always alerted him to Fima’s crimes. He hated how she was… He called it sullying the family name. I didn’t understand what he’d done to her, why she felt the need to steal. The last time I saw her was the day of her father’s funeral. Her head was high, and she did not cry, and she accepted the condolences of so many adults with such grace. There was a fire in her eyes. Even if she believed she’d been disinherited from the family fortune, she retained her independence, and her pride. That is how I like to remember her.

“She was seventeen when she suddenly disappeared,” Yakovi continues. “She stole a loaded ship from a known gangster. I don’t know what the payday would have been, but the ship was recovered, and Fima was long gone. I… Her birthday was four months later. She would have learned of her inheritance, then. She would still have had to leave the planet, no amount of money could erase that kind of criminal record… But she would’ve left with a safety net, which was what her parents always wanted for her. Safety.”

And Cassian thinks it was what she’d wanted for her own children, too.

Why she’d chosen the Empire as the cause she supported; because she thought it more stable, more likely to leave her family alive and together, out on Fest.

_“You are so good, Cassi.”_

_“You are too, Mama.”_

_“I have tried to be. I know I haven’t been around as much as I should be, and I hope you can forgive me for it.”_

_“Of course, Mama.”_

_“I have so much hope for your future. I cannot wait to see all the things you do. You will be great, Cassi.”_

She’d wanted so much for him, and tried to take care of him, to stay with him, because her own family had abandoned her.

Cassian understands, now, why she’d never spoken of Sernpidal, or of her family there.

Why she’d always looked so sad, whenever she was reminded of them.

Why she chose to forget her family, to hide from them.

“I have not spoken to my father in twenty years,” Yakovi continues. “He is a very old man now, and alone, I think. I have spent many years looking for Fima, to no avail; I decided she did not want to be found, not by our family. So when my father passed on the finances, and the business, to me, I decided that if Fima ever came back, or a relative of hers, that I would pass on the inheritance that we robbed from her. It is… It is not enough, but it’s something, I hope.”

Yakovi gets back to his feet, and turns to the second, heavy volume.

“My father purged Fima from our family records,” he says. “Once she became a criminal. He declared, to me, that she was besmirching the family name, and so he erased her. But I had a few mementos from her, a few pictures, and…”

He flicks through the pages, and then he holds out his hand to Cassian.

It’s a picture, a paper picture, from a technology considered ancient and obsolete, and therefore almost impossible to find, save as a pastime for the rich, as a novelty. Cassian looks at the picture, and sees a young girl, no older than thirteen. Her dark curly hair is long, brushing her waist, and she’s wearing a long white dress, and her hands are on her hips, and she’s standing on a beach, the sun dancing over her face. She’s smiling, brown eyes shining, the sea just behind her.

He would recognize her anywhere.

Nerezza had her hair. Zeferino had her nose.

And Cassian has her eyes, and her smile.

There is a brilliant, free spirited look in Serafima Cassiano’s young face. She looks fearless, and haughty, like nothing could deter her, nothing could destroy her.

Serafima Cassiano; too proud for the orphanage, too poor to survive anywhere else. Too arrogant to ask for charity, too young and alone to survive on the right side of the law.

Cassian thinks of his own name, and he realizes it was an act of defiance on Serafima’s part, evidence of her spirit, her stubbornness and her resilience; her family could forget her, but she was still a Cassiano, and her son was, too.

He really was named after her, and for her, in every way.

He wonders how much Gabriel Andor knew about his wife’s past.

“I am sorry, Cassian,” Yakovi says. “I wish I could offer more.”

Cassian shakes his head, holding the picture in his hand.

From the past, Serafima smiles up at the adult son who finally knows her, who is finally proud of her.

“This picture would’ve been more than enough,” Cassian says, quietly.

 

* * *

 

Yakovi insists that Cassian stay for dinner, and asks him to invite the Damerons and Beys, too. Unsurprisingly, they agree, and Shara and Maria arrive with identical grins of delight, having grown up hearing gossip about the famous Cassianos, while Kes and Poe look a little more bewildered, but undeniably impressed at the beautiful house, the incredible garden, and the view from the backyard.

The sunset is just as gorgeous as Cassian thought it would be.

He stands on the porch, and looks at it, listening to Yakovi’s voice carrying from the living room, where he’s speaking with Maria and Shara about the family history.

Cassian is startled by a hand on his shoulder, and he turns, to see Kes.

“So,” Kes says, and leaves it at that.

“So,” Cassian prompts.

“I said you were an heir. I told you there were credits waiting for you on Sernpidal.”

Cassian laughs. “You said that after Shara said I _might_ be related to a famous family. You didn’t know for sure.”

“Nah. I had a feeling.”

“A _feeling?_ ”

“You’ve always been more than meets the eye, Cassian,” Kes says, smiling, and Cassian shrugs at the faint praise.

They stand there, and look out over the ocean, at the setting sun.

“Sernpidal’s sun is much closer to the planet than most other planets’ suns,” Cassian says, breaking the calm quiet. “That was the only thing my mother ever told me about her homeworld. That the sun was very close. It was difficult for me to picture, because Fest’s sun is very weak, and distant. I did not grow up with much sunlight, unlike her.”

Kes’ nose wrinkles. “You know, the more you tell me about Fest, the less interested I become in visiting it.”

Cassian laughs. “It’s an acquired taste, I guess. Most people who live there are born into it.”

“Your mother didn’t leave it,” Kes says, thoughtfully. “I mean… Yakovi told us why she couldn’t come back here, but she could’ve gone somewhere nicer. Somewhere warmer, like home.”

“I don’t think she wanted the reminder,” Cassian says, softly. “Of Sernpidal, and what she’d lost here. I think she wanted something completely different, and Fest has nothing in common with Sernpidal. And my father was buried on Fest, too; she fought the Republic to get his remains back, and I think… I don’t think she wanted to leave him, even his grave. What she wanted, more than anything, was for us to be together. For her family to be together. I think… I think that was all she ever really wanted.”

Cassian understands why she went to Fest. She wanted to go somewhere that would not remind her of her lost home, her lost family, her ruined childhood.

And he understands, now, why she _stayed_.

Because she met Gabriel Andor, and she saw a hint of a home with him.

Because she had Nerezza, and Zeferino, and Cassian, and had a family, again.

_“I love you so much, Cassi. Please remember that. Your father and I, we love you, so much.”_

He understands why she’d apologized to him, so often, for her divorce, for Gabriel leaving the family.

She’d apologized because her family had been broken up again, and the breaking of her family had ruined her life, had stolen her childhood.

She’d wanted him to always know that he had a family.

Cassian turns his head, and looks back in the house, where Shara sits next to Yakovi, Poe on her other side, playing with a model ship that Yakovi had said he’d once played with in his own youth.

Poe Dameron, who will grow up with a family, even after he loses his mother.

Poe Dameron, who may one day be called to war, but who will always go for the right reasons.

Poe Dameron, who will always have a choice.

Cassian blinks, and turns back around, to look at the sunset, brilliant and overwhelming.

He thinks of standing on a different beach, on a planet on the other side of the galaxy, and facing a similar, blinding wall of light.

He thinks of the end, and how he has never understood what constitutes an end. Never been correct.

He thinks of the end, and how he has never gotten to choose it for himself.

Things end.

Sometimes, they can end well.

Sometimes, they can end _good_.

“Kes,” Cassian whispers.

“What are you thinking, Cassian?” Kes asks, but his voice is calm, and smooth, and barely a question, like he already knows.

“Jyn’s my family,” Cassian says. “And I left her.”

“You did.”

“It was a mistake.”

“It was,” Kes agrees, a smile growing on his face. “We’ve been telling you that for _months_. Leia has been updating us on you every week, waiting for the regret to sink in.”

Cassian laughs a little, but he sounds almost hysterical.

“You’re all going to be okay,” Cassian says. “Well; Shara isn’t. But I can’t save Shara.”

“You can’t,” Kes confirms, and Cassian clings to the railing of the porch, and lets this sink in.

 _I can’t save Shara_.

“I might die from Quannot’s,” he says to Kes. “It killed my grandparents, and I think my mother was afraid of it, too. Jyn shouldn’t have to see me like that. To watch me die like that.”

Kes rolls his eyes so hard that Cassian almost becomes concerned he’s hurt something.

“You’re a kriffing moron, Andor,” Kes says. “Shara is dying from the worst disease _ever_ , and it’s _awful_. It’s terrible. But I wouldn’t give up a single day, if it meant one less day at her side.”

He gestures behind them, to Poe, on the couch with his mother.

“You think _Poe_ is going to regret this time with her? He’s going to have to watch her get sicker, and sicker, and it’ll be traumatic, but it’ll be him with her. And he’s going to _treasure_ that. Because that’s his mother, and he loves her. Come _on_ , Cassian; what would you give for another day with your mother? Your father? Any of the family you’ve lost?”

Cassian nods, because Kes is right.

There is nothing he wouldn’t give for another day with any of them.

“The war is over,” he says, wonderingly.

“The war is kriffing over. Yes.”

“What happens now?” Cassian asks, and his voice is so quiet, because he thinks he’s in shock.

 _The war is over_.

He’s known, obviously, that it was. Known that he’s been living in relative peacetime for the last five years or so. But it hasn’t sunk in. He hasn’t felt like he’s earned it, the rest.

He’s still not convinced that he has.

“Go home, Cassian,” Kes says. “I know you’re a ridiculous martyr, but you _can_ go home. The universe won’t unhinge itself just because Cassian Andor decided to stop fighting.”

 _Stop fighting_.

“I don’t know who I am, without the war,” Cassian says.

“You’ve done all right the last five years.”

“But I’ve still been fighting, I’ve been working, with Leia, and going around the Outer Rim, and--”

He stops when Kes puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing.

“Then you take some time, and you figure it out,” Kes says. “It took you thirty-six years to finally understand your mother, yeah? It meant you had to find her home, and talk to someone who knew her?”

Cassian nods, and Kes smiles.

“Then find your home,” he says, “And talk to someone who knows you.” Kes pauses, and adds, “And I’m not talking about me, or Shara, to be clear.”

“Jyn.”

“Yeah, buddy. Jyn kriffing Erso. Who you owe one _hell_ of an apology to. And who definitely deserves to say _I told you so_ every day for, like, ever.”

“Yeah,” Cassian agrees.

He looks at the sunset, at the end in sight.

“I don’t deserve peacetime,” he says to Kes now. “I don’t… Kes, I’ve done so many horrible things for the war--”

But Kes squeezes his shoulder, and cuts him off.

“You have,” Kes says, quietly. “I don’t know everything, but… I’ve gathered enough. And I won’t deny that, Cass. And Jyn won’t either. The difference is that… That it’s all forgivable. All of those things happened in the past. During the war. And the war is over, and it’s time to move on.”

“To go home,” Cassian says, slowly, and Kes nods.

“Hell yeah, buddy. Go home.”

Cassian considers this.

He turns his head, and nods at Kes.

Kes is grinning. “Good. _Finally_. Make sure I’m there when you tell Shara that you’re going back to Jyn. She’s going to laugh _so hard_.”

 

* * *

 

Cassian ends up spending the week on Sernpidal with Shara, Kes, and Poe, as he had planned to.

Maria deciphers the files and papers that Yakovi had given Cassian, and immediately drags Cassian to a bank to get everything sorted out.

He suddenly has more money than he’s ever had in his life, and more than he knows what to do with.

“Just hang onto it, then,” Shara says, when she sees Cassian’s near-panicked face at this thought. “You’ll figure out what you want to do with it, sooner or later.”

“Ask Leia,” Kes advises. “She’s filthy rich, too. And I’m sure she’d be delighted to see that terrified look on your face.”

They go to the beach for a day, where Poe cackles with joy when Kes throws him into the ocean, and Shara sits on the shore, and laughs, and laughs, and Cassian watches them all, and thinks everything really is going to be okay.

He meets Shara’s father, who took care of Poe while Shara and Kes were at war. Levi Bey shares the same eyes as his daughters, though he’s much taller than them, and has an impressive handlebar moustache. He also turns about to be very like his daughters in that he grills Cassian over his morals and beliefs, and how that will translate into what Cassian teaches Poe Dameron, as part of what is quickly shaping to be a literal village that will raise him, more or less.

“Poe is my only grandchild, I am very protective of him,” Levi says, and Cassian does not doubt this, and doesn’t blame him for it.

He’s more confident in his answers now, than he was with Maria.

It’s taken him a long time, but he knows what he wants, what he’s going to fight for now.

For family, and for home, and for staying together.

His family is no longer the Rebellion, or the cause.

It’s outside it, beyond it.

It’s Jyn Erso, on Onderon.

Shara, Kes, and Poe take him to the Port of Sernpidal City, where he will take a transport to Onderon.

“Leia might call you, and ask why I’m not on Chandrila yet,” he tells Kes as he hugs him. “Don’t… Don’t tell her, yet. I want to tell her myself, but I have to talk to Jyn, first. If that makes sense.”

“My lips are sealed,” Kes insists, smirking.

Cassian hugs Poe, crouching down to the boy’s level, putting his face above his own.

“When will I see you again?” Poe asks.

“Sooner than you think,” Cassian says, and it’s a promise. “But you can call me anytime, yeah? Remember that.”

Poe nods.

Cassian gets to his feet, and hugs Shara tightly.

“I’m proud of you, Cass,” she says, and he can feel her smiling against his shoulder. “This is a good decision, and you aren’t going to regret it. And I am so glad I got to see it, and tell you that I _knew_ you were going to do this.”

Cassian snorts, and presses a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks for letting me come here, with you guys. I’ve had a good time.”

He steps back, and Shara squeezes his hand.

“Tell us how it goes,” she says. “And feel free to come back here, and see us again, anytime.”

“Of course,” Cassian says, and because he fears he does not tell her enough, tell _anyone_ enough, he adds, “I love you.”

Shara smiles. “I love you, too, even when you don’t listen to me, and even when you make ridiculous decisions.”

“We really are family,” Cassian notes, and Shara laughs.

He gets on the transport, and watches Shara and Kes below, Poe standing between them, holding their hands.

 

* * *

 

Cassian knows Jyn is on Onderon, running an orphanage for war orphans in the capital city of Iziz.

He’d found out about it last year, when he’d finally caved to his melancholy, and looked her up, feeling overwhelmed by how much he’d missed her. He knew she would have been furious at the invasion of her privacy, but he’d figured that she was already angry at him, so it would just be another thing she could be upset with him over, another thing he’d deserve.

It takes him a few days to reach Onderon.

He’s been on Onderon once or twice over the years, and has never seen Iziz so stable. There are no explosions, no sounds of blasterfire, and Cassian walks through the streets feeling relatively relaxed, relatively comfortable. He understands why Jyn ended up here; she spent some of her childhood and adolescence on Onderon, and likely thought of it as being close to home, if not the thing exactly.

Jyn tends to establish home in other people, Cassian knows, more than places.

They are similar, in that way.

He finds the orphanage, and walks inside.

It’s surprisingly quiet, and calm, and clean. Cassian walks through the front hall, until he finds a small office, with two desks.

Only one of the desks is occupied, by a fairly young man with black skin and dark hair in long braids.

He stares at Cassian, raising an eyebrow.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

“I’m looking for Jyn Erso,” Cassian says.

The man blinks. “Uh huh. And you are?”

“Cassian Andor. I’m… I’m her ex-husband.”

The man sits up so straight that he knocks a stack of documents off the top of his desk. He ignores the mess, and gawks at Cassian.

“Are you really?”

“Um… Yes?” Cassian says, his voice a question, even though he knows he definitely is Cassian Andor, Jyn Erso’s ex-husband.

The man begins to laugh.

“Sorry,” he breathes, getting to his feet, and going over to Cassian, to shake his hand. “Sorry, it isn’t that funny. I just didn’t think I’d ever get to meet you. I’m Edvar, by the way, I run this place. I was her second, but now I’m in charge. Jyn didn’t talk about you much, but the little she would say made me think you were a pretty cool dude. Wow.”

But Cassian has frozen, distracted by the bits of information Edvar has shared.

“I thought Jyn ran the orphanage,” he says.

“Oh, she did,” Edvar says. “She left a few months ago.”

“She left,” Cassian repeats, and his heart sinks in his chest.

A few months ago, too. He was so close.

“Do you…” He starts, and swallows. “Do you know where she went?”

Edvar frowns. “Uh. Why are you looking for her?”

“I need to talk to her.”

Edvar deliberates for a moment, and Cassian understands that he’s trying to decide if he wants to tell Jyn’s ex-husband where she is now.

It stings, but he knows he deserves the hesitation.

“Okay, fine,” Edvar says after a moment. “But you didn’t hear it from me, all right?”

“Sure.”

“Besides, I’m not convinced she told me the truth,” Edvar mutters. “Kind of think she made it up. She told me she was going to some system called Fest.”

There is silence, while Cassian stares at Edvar.

“Yeah, see?” Edvar says. “That’s what she said, I swear. I thought it sounded fake, too.”

“No, it’s…” Cassian’s voice sounds oddly hoarse, and so he clears his throat. “No, it’s… It’s real. Far from here, but it’s… It’s real.”

“Huh. Okay.”

“Why… Did she tell you _why?_ ”

 _Jyn is on Fest_.

Cassian has no idea why she would have gone there, without him.

“About three months ago, some old friend messaged her, asking about a favor,” Edvar says, shrugging. “A woman; don’t remember the name, sorry. But Jyn went out there to help her out, and then messaged me a couple weeks ago saying she was going to stay. I was pretty surprised, not gonna lie; she’d always liked Onderon, and the kids here, but… I don’t know anything about Fest, but there must’ve been something there that made her want to stay. Your guess is probably better than mine.”

Cassian has no guesses.

He has no idea.

Jyn had been okay with Fest, when they’d visited it sporadically over the years. She’d waded through the snow, nervously, and shivered in the cold and the frost.

He hadn’t gotten the impression she had liked Fest enough to _stay there_.

If Jyn is looking for home--and she’d said as much to him when they’d divorced, as it’d been the key reason in Cassian asking for a divorce--what was it about Fest that made her decide it was the home she’d been looking for, after all these years?

“Thanks, Edvar,” Cassian says, quietly.

“You weren’t here,” Edvar says, forcefully. “You didn’t hear it from me, remember?”

“Right.”

Cassian leaves the orphanage, and walks back to the Port of Iziz.

 

* * *

 

The last time Cassian was on Fest was five years earlier, after the Battle of Jakku.

He’d gone to Fest, on behalf of the Alliance that was then about to become the New Republic, in order to meet with the Atrivis Sector Force, to hear their plans for the Atrivis Sector following the end of the Empire.

It’d been a pleasant visit, one he looks back on fondly.

He’d left Jyn on Corellia the next year.

Fest looks much the same as Cassian remembers, much the same as it always has. He looks out the window of the ship as it flies over the planet, towards Fulcra, taking in the tall mountains and deep abysses, snow and ice covering everything, as far as the eye can see. And then there’s Fulcra, with its tall black buildings, contrasting so sharply, and so darkly.

The transport lands, and Cassian pulls his jacket in more tightly to him.

Fest is so much colder than Onderon, and Sernpidal.

He hadn’t anticipated coming to Fest at all, and so he doesn’t have a good coat for it, and he finds himself cold, something he isn’t used to feeling while being here. He walks quickly, heading to a warmer, underground tunnel, choosing to ignore the snow-covered streets.

He has an address for Jyn.

Because he’d reflected on Edvar’s words, and realized there’s only one woman on Fest that Jyn knows, only one woman who would contact her seeking help.

He’d started there; with Travia Chan.

Cassian had messaged her on the flight to Fest, simply saying he’d heard Jyn had moved to Fest, and asking if Travia knew where.

He’s pretty sure Travia knows him too well, and could likely _smell_ the desperation from his short message, because she’d responded astonishingly quickly, with an address, and a note:

 _Good_.

He expects he’ll be hearing this kind of sentiment a lot, for the foreseeable future.

Jyn’s address takes him to an apartment building deep in the heart of Fulcra.

He walks inside, brushing snow out of his hair, shivering a little with the cold.

He takes an elevator upstairs, and finds the apartment door marked with the number that matches the address Travia had sent him.

He stands in front of the black door for a moment, and pulls himself together.

He has no idea what to say, what he _could_ say.

He sighs, and then he lifts up his hand, and knocks on the door.

It flies open a few seconds later, and he’s face to face with Jyn, for the first time in five months.

She stares at him, her mouth somewhat dropped, and her eyes are that same, bright shade of green, her brown hair tied up on her head, and she’s looking at him with no trace amount of shock in her face.

“Hello, Jyn,” Cassian says, softly. “I…”

But he trails off, losing his voice, because he’s looked away from her face for a moment, to the rest of her.

And there’s more of her than he remembers.

Her stomach is very round, is very large, and he knows what he’s seeing, but he just can’t process it.

He stares. And stares some more.

Jyn sighs, very quietly, but the complete silence of the hall, the absence of Cassian’s breathing, makes it seem very loud; she might as well have screamed. It would register the same amount to Cassian, who knows, instinctively, he’s in shock, because he’s standing in front of Jyn, and she’s pregnant.

“Yeah,” she says. “Hello, Cassian. You’d better come in. We have a lot to talk about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mothers feature heavily in this story; I was not joking about that. I didn't go into this story planning this, but as I was writing, I realized that this theme of mothers, and memory, was coming up a lot. With Cassian, and Serafima, and trying to understand, and to know, and deciding what is owed. And with Poe, and Shara, and trying to remember. Memory, and mothers, is key, basically; and it's gonna be with Jyn, too.
> 
> There's a lot about mirroring the past, too, so of course Jyn and Cassian are rapidly approaching a place where they mirror Cassian's parents. So the question is: can this course be changed?
> 
> Tosi-karu is an Old EU goddess of annihilation for the Sernpidalians. There is actually an Old EU story, set 25 ABY, in which Sernpidal is destroyed; Chewbacca is killed, too. When I was writing GRAY AREAS, and trying to come up with Cassian's mother, I read about this story and thought it'd be fitting that her homeworld face an ending similar to Cassian's own ending. Because Cassian has always been meant to be like his mother, in this universe. And annihilation has always been big with him.
> 
> (Though I never anticipated writing so much about Serafima.)
> 
> The memories of conversation with Cassian's parents are all quotations from GRAY AREAS.
> 
> The next three chapters are back to Jyn's perspective, and what happened to her in the last five months.


	7. Dura mater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dura mater: tough mother.
> 
> (Literally: tough mother.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: time jump

**_Five months previously, 10 ABY_ **

Jyn spends a week on Yavin 4 with Shara, Kes, and Poe.

As Kes had suggested, she does help them eat their way through all the mourning and comfort food brought to them by friends and neighbors. She tries a bit of everything, and finds she enjoys Dandoran food, with its fish-infused dishes, more than any of the others.

The salt in it reminds her of Lah’mu.

_“If I asked for a divorce, would you let me go? Would you feel like you could go home?”_

She doesn’t know what home is anymore.

Home had been Lah’mu, for a bit, with her parents; until the Empire had come, and killed her mother, and stolen her father away, taking him from her forever. Home had been Onderon, for a bit, with Saw and the Partisans, until they’d abandoned her, made her feel worthless and unloved.

And home had been Cassian, for years.

For a decade.

They’d spent a handful of months over the years on Lah’mu, patching her parents’ house together, and Jyn had always believed they’d worked on it in the hope that the war would end, and so they could retire to Lah’mu one day, and live out their lives together there, in quiet, and peace.

Cassian, with the salt air, and the sea.

That future is permanently out of her reach.

She needs to figure out what home is now, to her.

Because home has long been people. Her mother, and her father. Saw Gerrera, and the Partisans. The Alliance. Cassian.

And now she’s alone, again.

This isn’t unusual for her, but she’s bitter about it.

She feels so tired, and so young, like a lost little girl, because all she wants, all she’s really ever wanted, is to go home.

This still doesn’t feel like a terribly huge thing to want.

On the last night of Jyn’s stay on Yavin 4, Shara wanders into the backyard, where Jyn is sitting under the force-sensitive tree.

Shara slides down to the grass-covered ground, sitting next to her.

Rain is falling around them, but the tree’s branches are thick and extensive enough to keep them dry.

“Are you going to be okay?” Shara asks.

Jyn frowns at her. “Of course.”

And she will be. Jyn is very good at surviving, at adapting, at being alone.

At starting over.

Shara reaches over, and takes her hand, squeezing it. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Shara.”

“I don’t think it’s yours, either.”

Jyn sighs, and turns her head up, staring at the canopy of the tree, at the intertwining branches, all soft greens and browns, though she swears she occasionally gets a hint of a line of vibrant blue running along the branches. The tree’s leaves sway quietly in the thin breeze, and the effect makes it look like the tree itself is breathing with her, and Jyn thinks she probably shouldn’t find this as comforting as she does.

“I asked too much of him,” she says, softly.

“I don’t really think you did,” Shara says, and Jyn can’t see her from her current vantage point, but she can hear the frown in Shara’s voice.

“He’s made himself very clear, and obvious to me,” Jyn replies. “He’s always been upfront about who he is, and what he wants, and I… This isn’t surprising. I’m still upset about it, but I shouldn’t be.”

Shara scoffs. “Your husband left you. Of course you’re upset. That’s very understandable.”

Jyn turns her head, looking at Shara.

“How are you, Shara? How are you feeling?”

“I’m getting a little tired of people asking me that,” Shara says, and Jyn laughs. “But I’m pretty good. All things considered.”

“This is so unfair,” Jyn mutters, and she knows that saying that doesn’t help anyone, doesn’t automatically cure Shara, but she says the words nonetheless, because sometimes, you just have to. Because sometimes they burst out of you, and you can’t help it.

Shara nods. “It is. And I am angry. And sad. And I imagine it’ll get worse, the closer I get to… To the end.”

Her voice shakes a little, and Jyn knows that for all of Shara’s humor, her smiles, her sarcasm, that she is terrified of dying. Scared of leaving Kes, and of leaving Poe. Maybe even scared of what comes next for her, if there is anything after this.

Jyn thinks there is.

She thinks Shara will see her husband and her son again, someday, somewhere.

Just like she’ll see her parents, and Saw, and Rogue One, and everyone she’s ever loved, everyone she’s considered family.

“I love you,” Jyn says, quietly.

She’s always been a little scared of the words, of telling people she loves them, but this is _Shara_ , her friend of a decade, who’s running out of time. Who deserves to know.

Shara smiles.

“I love you, too,” she says. “We’ll be okay.”

Jyn watches as Shara settles more comfortably in the grass, leaning against the trunk of the force-sensitive tree, and begins to hum contentedly to herself.

Jyn closes her own eyes, and leans her head back against the trunk of the tree, holding Shara’s hand tight in hers.

They sit there in companionable silence, listening to the wind, and the breath of the tree itself.

 

* * *

 

The orphanage is just as loud as it was when Jyn left.

She walks through the front doors and is immediately assaulted by a small crowd of children, ranging in age from just starting school to nearing completion of school. The children clamor around her, hugging her around the waist, chattering to her in at least ten different languages on what Jyn is sure is a variety of topics. The only thing they seem united in chanting is her name.

“Hi, hi,” she says, smiling widely, and accepting their greetings with enthusiasm, hugging everyone back as well as she can. “Yes, yes, I’m back. I am very happy to see all of you.”

“Back off guys, give her some space,” Edvar says, coming from around the corner, and the children scatter automatically. He smiles at Jyn, and gives her an exaggerated salute.

“Welcome back, Captain.”

She rolls her eyes at his favorite form of title for her.

“For the last time, I’ve _never_ been a Captain,” Jyn insists, shouldering her bag.

She heads into their office, Edvar at her heels.

“Yeah, but you run this place, so you’re basically a Captain,” Edvar says.

“You have an inaccurate understanding of how militaries work.”

“Not all of us have firsthand experience, I work with dramas I saw on the holonet.”

Edvar is ten years younger than Jyn, at twenty-two, and so she can’t fault him for his lack of military experience. If anything, it makes her happy. She likes knowing there are young people who have never set foot in a warzone, whose only knowledge of war comes from history books, or even from the stupid holonet dramas, like the ones she’s caught Edvar watching, the older children crowded around him.

Jyn sets her bag down on the floor, and sits at her desk, going through the messages.

“Anything exciting happen while I was gone?” she asks.

“Janie lost her first tooth,” Edvar says. “Aleha sprained his ankle playing grav-ball--”

“I _told_ him to be careful, I _knew_ he was going to land funny one day playing that game, and hurt himself--”

“Rizann is officially over four feet tall, we’re all thrilled for him,” Edvar continues, “Sammi decided she wanted her hair cut, so, naturally, about ten other girls got their hair cut too, and then Branden announced he’d be growing his hair to his waist, which I am _all_ for, obviously… Keela’s horns started growing in, so steer clear of her, she’s been yelling at anyone and anything all week, but the doc said it all looks good, just to keep an eye on the color. Oh, Dev got adopted. Final paperwork cleared this morning.”

Jyn stills, looking up from a food inventory. “Really?”

“Yup. The parents came here a couple days ago, all the way from Chandrila,” Edvar says, crossing his arms over his chest. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Jyn frowns, because Edvar has an eyebrow raised, looking a little amused. “What do you mean?”

“Well, one of the moms--think her name was Issa, it’ll be in the form, you can check later--said she’d heard about us from Leia Organa. You know. The Minister of _Defense_ , for the New Republic?”

And Jyn sighs, and suddenly would like to take a very long nap.

“I didn’t know you were in touch with Leia Organa,” Edvar says. “That’s all. I mean, it’s great, obviously, if Dev can find parents, because then maybe more of the kids will, too--”

“I didn’t _tell_ Leia Organa anything,” Jyn snaps, interrupting.

“Oh.” Edvar pauses, and thinks this over. “Then, how--”

“My--” And here Jyn stops, and bites her lip, looking down at her desk.

 _You have to start saying it, and getting used to it_ , she thinks to herself.

To Edvar now, she says, “My ex-husband looked me up, and then told Leia about what I do here. That’s how she knows about this place.”

“Oh,” Edvar says again, frowning more. “Wait, Jyn; you’re calling him your ex-husband now?”

“We got divorced on Yavin 4.”

“Oh _snot_ ,” Edvar says, and he moves, diving into the chair across from Jyn’s desk, and leaning forward, putting his arms on top of the forms she’s been trying to look over. “You _saw_ him? And you got divorced? _Really?_ ”

Jyn purses her lips, but decides that Edvar would likely have found out about this anyway, eventually.

“We can talk about this now, and then never again, all right?” She says. “I don’t want to talk about him again. So ask your questions now, and that’s it. Got it?”

“Deal,” Edvar says. “Spill. Tell me everything.”

She knows Edvar is a good friend, knows he wants the details so he can decide how best to respond to this, to determine if Jyn needs cheering up, or if she needs to scream, and break something. She knows he wants to know everything because he cares about her, and so she sighs, and proceeds to do just that.

But Edvar is twenty-two years old, and tends to latch on to innocuous details over the big picture.

This tendency makes him popular with the children, who relate to him, and even makes him a good teacher to them, as he tends to remember the oddest things.

But Jyn regrets this aspect of his personality now, and her decision to be so forthcoming with him.

“Wait, wait; you had _sex_ under a _tree_ outside, in the _rain?_ ”

“Don’t _yell_ ,” she hisses. “There are children everywhere, here, _kriff_.”

She knows her own language might defeat her point, but Edvar still gets it, hushing up, though his eyes are still big, and more amused than she thinks he should be.

“Rebels, indeed,” he says, smirking, and Jyn regrets everything that has led her to this moment.

“Why did I ever decide to hire you? Why do I bother _talking_ to you--”

“My smarts, and my enthusiasm, and my devotion to the kids,” Edvar says.

These are all true things, and Jyn herself has said as much in the past. She sighs.

“Anyway,” she grumbles, and moves on.

She finishes her story with Cassian and Leia leaving Kes and Shara’s house, and then she sits back in her chair, and studies Edvar, as he takes this in.

“That’s a sad story, Jyn.”

“It’s… It’s what happened?”

“Yeah, I know,” Edvar says. “Still sad. I mean; I never actually met your husband--”

“Ex-husband.”

“--Ex-husband, right,” Edvar says, nodding. “I never actually met the guy. But I’ve read about him, and he sounds pretty cool. And you’ve always smiled a lot whenever you’ve thought about him, or mentioned him, and I just… I dunno. I kinda always thought he’d turn up here someday, and you guys would get your shit together.”

It’s not poetically said, exactly, but it is a romantic notion, and she thinks it’s sweet of Edvar to have wanted this for her.

“You’re very young, Edvar,” she says instead.

“I’m a romantic,” Edvar insists, and she laughs.

“Yeah, you are.”

“Are you okay, though?” Edvar asks, soft brown eyes concerned. “Like, do you need some time off, or anything? Because I did pretty well on my own the last week, running things all right, you can ask the other staff, they’ll tell you--”

“I believe you,” Jyn says, quickly. “And I don’t need or want time off. I’m fine. I just want to spend time with the kids.”

Because the children in the orphanage want her help, want to see her, and talk to her, and she can help them, can show them they are valued, and adored.

Edvar nods.

“Sounds good, Captain,” he says, and Jyn groans again at the title.

She’s never told Edvar that it was the rank Cassian held the first time she met him, and that every time he says it, part of her thinks he’s talking to Cassian, that Cassian is standing behind her, that he’s right there in the room with her, again.

She definitely won’t tell him this now.

She’ll just deal with it, on her own, as she always has.

“Pass me the paperwork you’ve been neglecting all week,” she says, and Edvar laughs, but dutifully stands and hands her a stack of documents.

 

* * *

 

The first couple months of Jyn’s post-Cassian life are, to her, surprisingly good.

She thinks it’s because not much has really changed. She and Cassian had already been estranged for four years, and she hadn’t see him once during that time. She’d lived her own life, moved to Onderon, and founded an orphanage for war orphans.

The difference now, she thinks, is that she has a certificate of divorce squirreled away under her bed, and a couple kyber crystal necklaces in her pocket.

It’s the first time in twenty-three years that Jyn does not have a kyber crystal necklace around her neck.

This is the biggest difference, by far, she thinks.

She thought about wearing the one Cassian had returned to her, the one she’d given him ten years ago, the one that had once belonged to Lyra Erso. But she looked at the necklace, turning the thin, transparent crystal over in her hands, and thought of how much it didn’t feel like _hers_ anymore.

She thinks she’d always been borrowing it. First from Lyra, and then from Cassian, though she hadn’t known that for so long.

She holds the kyber crystal in her hand tightly, and is visited by a ghost of a memory.

The voice of Chirrut Imwe, on Jedha.

_“The strongest stars have hearts of kyber.”_

Jyn closes her eyes.

_“Jyn… My Stardust.”_

She feels her lip tremble, and tears gather in her eyes.

If Chirrut was right; if it’s true that the strongest stars have hearts of kyber, then Jyn is clearly neither a star, nor someone with a heart of kyber.

Her heart feels very weak.

She really feels like she’s embodying her father’s favorite nickname for her. She truly feels a little like stardust; grainy, and ashy, and liable to slip away with a brush of wind.

She decides she can’t carry the kyber crystals around with her anymore.

She tucks them in a box, and banishes them to the back of her closet.

She’s hopeful she’ll find a use for them, eventually.

In the meantime, she cares for the orphans she’s surrounded herself with.

She’s always related to them, as an orphan herself, as a veteran of the war that caused them to flee their homes, to lose their families. The children frequently sense a kindred spirit in her, and they latch onto her, following her around the orphanage, asking her questions, cajoling her to play with them, to offer advice.

Many of them get nightmares. And she does, too.

Jyn is awoken one night by a knock at her door.

She gets to her feet, blinking sleep from her eyes, and walks across the room, using the moonlight to illuminate her way.

She opens the door, and is greeted by the sight of nine-year-old Asha, her big brown eyes watery, her russet-colored skin dark in the dim lighting. She’s shaking a little, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, and her black hair is flattened on one side from her pillow.

Jyn looks at the girl, and nods, stepping back.

Asha walks inside, and immediately clambers into Jyn’s bed.

She is not the first child to wake from a nightmare and come running to Jyn’s room, and Jyn knows she won’t be the last.

Jyn lies down next to her, on her side, so she can face her.

“Tell me?” Jyn asks.

“I was home,” Asha says, and Jyn knows that Asha came to them from Taanab, a neighboring planet, and that her village had been massacred when she was very young, killing her family and causing her to be shuffled from orphanage to orphanage until Taanab, overloaded with orphans, sent orphans away to nearby systems, including Onderon. “I was home, and I was with Mama.”

“What were you doing with your mother?”

“Cooking,” Asha says. “I don’t remember what it’s called, but it was a lot of vegetables. I didn’t like the purple ones.”

Jyn gathers that this is a memory, that this actually happened.

“Mama was laughing,” Asha says, voice trembling, “And then there was a loud noise. A blast. And the door… disappeared. And there were ‘troopers, and they were yelling, and Mama was screaming, and I was screaming, and she told me to run, and hide, and I started to go, but I turned around, and I saw Mama… I saw Mama…”

Asha breaks off, overwhelmed by loud, stuttering, sobs.

Jyn pulls the girl to her, tucking Asha’s head into her neck, rubbing her back soothingly.

“I’m so sorry, Asha,” she murmurs.

“I miss her.”

“Yeah,” Jyn says. “It’s okay to miss her.”

“But I miss her _so much_ ,” Asha says, and Jyn’s heart breaks at the tears covering her face, the way Asha’s nose is running, how lost and sad she looks.

This, she knows, is the worst part of running the orphanage.

Seeing these children, these innocent children, so lost and so sad.

They deserve so much more.

“You’ll always miss her,” Jyn tells Asha now. “But it gets easier. Trust me.”

Asha nods, because Jyn is honest with the children, and so they all know that Jyn lost her mother when she was a child, like they all have.

“Do you still dream of your Mama?” Asha asks.

“Of course,” Jyn says, and this is the truth.

Though her dreams of her mother have taken an odd turn, as of late.

In the last couple months that she’s dreamt of her mother, Lyra has not spoken to her in her dreams. She’s simply been there, either standing in front of Jyn, or sitting at the table in the kitchen of their home on Lah’mu. And Jyn has not been a child in these dreams, as she nearly always is when she dreams of her mother; rather, she’s herself as she is now, thirty-two years old, and constantly desperate to talk to Lyra.

She speaks to Lyra in these dreams, asking her what she’s doing there, why she won’t say anything, if she’s okay.

And Lyra never replies.

She only smiles, and she touches Jyn’s hand, but she never speaks.

Jyn thinks this shouldn’t be surprising.

Lyra has long been a kind of spectre in Jyn’s life, peeking out at her from the edges of everything, and so it figures that this manifestation has finally been translated into Jyn’s unconscious mind.

But it’s also incredibly _frustrating_.

She almost thinks Lyra is waiting for something, though what she could be waiting for, hanging out in Jyn’s dreams, Jyn has no idea.

“I like seeing her,” Jyn says to Asha. “I like getting to remember her. And I wake up, and I remember she’s gone, and I… I am sad, but I know, too, that she wouldn’t want me to be. She’d want me to be okay, and move on. And if that means I don’t think of her every day, then so be it. She’d want me to be happy, and that means being happy without her.”

Asha takes this in, chewing her lip.

“You’ll always be a little sad, about her,” Jyn says, gently. “But I promise it gets easier.”

This might not be the most optimistic of advice, or the most comforting, but Jyn thinks it’s the most honest.

If she’s learned anything in her two years of running an orphanage, it’s that children are _fantastic_ at sussing out the truth, at knowing when they’re being lied to.

“You promise?” Asha checks.

“I promise,” Jyn confirms.

She’s also hopeful that Asha will have another mother, in the future.

That she’ll have another chance at a family.

It is all that Jyn wants for these children.

It is, also, all that she wants for herself.

 

* * *

 

A flu sweeps through the orphanage, and both Jyn and Edvar go down like frozen tauntauns.

But they’re both used to being sick; they take care of two dozen or so children, and children basically hoard germs, and so Jyn and Edvar typically get sick a few times a year, as a flu or cold or other virus passes through. It’s only a little unusual this time in that they get sick at the same time; they normally have a few days in between.

“What do we think,” Edvar grunts, when Jyn walks downstairs one morning and finds him facedown on his desk. “Bandonian Plague?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jyn snorts.

She tosses a box of Dagoban bentaxne tea onto the desk in front of Edvar’s head.

“What’s this?”

“It’ll soothe your stomach,” Jyn says. “Reduce the nausea.”

“I’m not nauseous,” Edvar grumbles, sitting up. “But my head feels like it’s going to split open, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a fever. You got any tea for that?”

“Massassi-blossom tea is supposed to reduce fevers,” Jyn says, thoughtfully. “I don’t have any with me, though, you’ll have to get some on your own later.”

Edvar groans.

Jyn sits at her desk, gripping onto the edge for a moment, as another wave of nausea wafts over her.

She’s been throwing up all week; she doesn’t know what she could possibly have left in her, though her stomach is making a valiant attempt at convincing her body that it needs to be sick again.

She envies Edvar for the headache and fever.

“Who’s sick?” She asks, turning on her datapad to go through her messages.

“A better question is who _isn’t_ sick.”

Jyn grimaces, but she’s pretty sure Edvar has a point. She skims through her messages but stops when she comes across a familiar, but unexpected name.

 _Travia Chan_.

She stares at the words for a moment, before opening the written message.

_Jyn,_

_I hope you are doing well on Onderon. I talked to Cassian last year, and he mentioned that you were living there now, and running an orphanage. I write to you now to ask for a favor, though you of course do not owe me anything._

_We are still working on cleaning up the Empire’s messes out here in the Atrivis Sector, and what with rebuilding much of our infrastructure, our agriculture, and our industry, we have horribly neglected health and family services, and that includes the state of our orphanages throughout the Sector. Fest is in the best shape of any of the planets in the Sector, and so we have decided to establish a new orphanage here, for children throughout the area._

_I am writing to you now in the hope you might visit us out here, and offer us some advice on how to get started, and what we need to do; we do have other orphanages on the planet, but they are swamped with work and children, and I have heard very good things about your work through Leia Organa, as of late. Most of the children we are looking to house are war orphans, which I understand are most of the children you house on Onderon._

_Please do not feel any obligation to help us out; I am sure you are quite busy, and as I said, you do not owe us out here on Fest anything. I simply thought I would reach out, and see what you had to say. If you are not able to visit us, could you perhaps direct us to someone who might be able to?_

_Write back at your earliest convenience._

_Yours,_

_Travia Chan_

“Kriff,” Jyn breathes, her eyes wide as saucers.

“What? You’re not gonna be sick again, are you?” Edvar asks, wrinkling his nose.

As it turns out, she is.

 

* * *

 

Jyn knows she doesn’t owe Travia Chan anything.

She’s only met the woman a handful of times, over the last ten years. She and Cassian had made it a habit to stop by Fest on their way back from Lah’mu, to wherever the Alliance was settled. Travia had always been delighted to see them, though she’d made it no secret that Cassian was her favorite, and Jyn had never minded this. Travia has known Cassian since he was a young child, has mentored him, and cared for him, and watched him grow up in the Fest Rebellion.

She’d come to like Jyn, too, Jyn knows. Travia had said more than once that Cassian seemed to _light up_ around Jyn in a way Travia had never seen him do before.

Travia Chan is not a woman known for saying things she doesn’t mean, and Jyn had taken her words to be soft praise, and quiet approval.

Jyn suspects that part of Cassian sees Travia as a sort of mother-figure, even if he’s not entirely aware of this. At the very least, Travia’s opinion means a lot to him, and so Jyn had been delighted to have Travia’s validation.

But Jyn does not owe Travia anything, and she does not owe Fest anything, either.

She doesn’t have any connections to Fest anymore. Her only connection to the planet had been Cassian, as a native of Fest, and she doesn’t have him anymore. She’s visited the planet before, and every time she’d shivered her way down the streets, clutching Cassian’s hand, as he walked with confidence through the snow that covered every surface, blanketing the world in a harsh cover of gray.

Cassian was born in the ice of Fest, and the planet has always seemed to recognize him as one of its own.

Jyn has always felt like an outsider, and has always felt like the planet has known it, too, and done its best to make her want to leave it, to never stay for long.

She’d always endured it for Cassian’s sake, because he seemed to find some unspoken comfort in the frost and the gray.

But she doesn’t have Cassian anymore, and doesn’t have any reason to go to Fest.

Save for Travia Chan’s request.

She stews over the message for the next week.

Her stomach has already been in knots from the flu, but her anxiety and indecision makes it worse, and so she does her best to bury herself in her work, and drinks tea by the gallon, and thinks.

Edvar thinks she should go.

“Look, this woman just wants your _opinion_ ,” he says, yet again, when he spies Jyn staring off into space, a forgotten pot of water boiling on the stove behind her. “She just wants you to come by for a little bit, and give them some tips on how to get an orphanage set up and running. That’s it. You can do that much, Jyn.”

Jyn sighs.

She hasn’t told Edvar that Cassian is from Fest, that Cassian is the reason she knows Travia Chan at all. She’s pretty sure Edvar has already forgotten Travia’s name; Jyn had described her as an old friend, and it’d been enough for Edvar, who has come to understand that Jyn has a host of old friends, from the war, crawling around the galaxy.

“We’ll still be here when you get back,” Edvar says, as he and Jyn lock up the building for the night, the children in bed. “We aren’t going anywhere--”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Look,” Edvar says, and sighs, turning to Jyn. “I don’t know why you’re tearing yourself up over this. It seems like a simple yes. It’s an _old friend_ \--your words--asking for a favor, your help, and the favor is exactly what you’ve been doing here for the last two years, so it isn’t like it’s a whole ton of extra work. It seems like an easy yes. It’s definitely a complicated no, at least, going by the way you’ve practically bitten your nails to the quick in the last week.”

Jyn frowns, and stuffs her hands in her pockets.

She isn’t sure why she’s struggling with saying yes to Travia.

Everything Edvar has said is valid. It isn’t much of a favor. It’s doing good, for the war orphans of Fest.

If Jyn’s being honest with herself, the reason she’s struggling to say yes is because of the war orphan of Fest that she knows, personally: Cassian.

She’s been doing very well, on her own, and she’s worried that going to Fest, and being reminded of Cassian everywhere, will only sadden her, remind her of the man she’s let go of, so recently.

(If she’s being _very_ honest with herself, she’d know she hasn’t let go, at all.)

But Travia’s request is not about Cassian.

It’s about the orphaned children, the ones who have lost everything to the war, the innocent, heartbroken, traumatized children, whose youth and childhood was ripped away by the Empire that Jyn fought to destroy.

That Jyn _succeeded_ in destroying.

Jyn knows that she owes nothing to Travia, or to Fest.

She knows that she owes nothing to Cassian.

But she thinks she owes something to the children whose lives have been so upended by the Empire.

Because she was once one of them, and she’d do anything to help another child escape her fate.

She sighs now, and nods at Edvar.

“Do you know where I can get a really big, really warm coat?”

 

* * *

 

The children all clamor around the front door of the orphanage to see Jyn off.

She looks at their sad faces, and feels guilt rage through her, and once again second-guesses her decision to go to Fest at Travia Chan’s request.

Edvar all but throws her out the door.

“We’ll be here when you get back,” he says, again, watching as Jyn adjusts the strap of her bag, waiting with the heavy black parka she’d bought for the trip in his arms. “Go help the war orphans of… What’s the system, again?”

“ _Fest_ ,” Jyn sighs, and she’s said it a million times, and yet Edvar continues to fail to internalize it; part of her thinks he might actually believe she’s made it up. “I wrote it down, on my desk, so if you forget again, check there. I also left Travia Chan’s contact information, so if you _need me_ \--”

“I won’t,” Edvar says, cheerfully. “C’mon, Jyn. I know how this place works. We’ll be fine.”

Jyn sighs again.

“I trust you,” she says, “But you’re still getting over that flu, and so are about five of the kids--”

“You are, too, don’t think I didn’t notice you throwing up in a vase of lilies last week--”

“--And I want to make sure that you know I’ll turn around and come back if you need me to,” Jyn says, forcefully.

Edvar smiles at her.

“You’re not abandoning us, Jyn,” he says.

And this is what Jyn really needs to hear.

She’s been abandoned before, so many times, and she really needs her friends to know that she isn’t about to do the same to them.

She nods, swallowing down her emotion.

“Thanks, Edvar,” she says.

“Good luck, Captain,” Edvar replies, smirking. “Okay, guys, say bye to Jyn!”

The children do just that, hugging Jyn around the waist, squeezing her hands, hanging onto her arms, and calling her name. She looks at all their faces, human and non-human alike, and she tells them she’s going to miss them, that she’s going to help some other kids, on the other side of the galaxy, but kids who are just like them.

Orphaned. Lost. Desperate for a home.

Jyn can relate.

She takes the parka from Edvar, and begins her walk to the Port of Iziz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kinda short because the next one is LONG.


	8. Respice finem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Respice finem: consider the end.
> 
> Or: look back at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins immediately after the ending of the last chapter.

Jyn looks out the window of the public transport as it breaks through Fest’s atmosphere.

The planet is still almost shockingly gray, no hint of color anywhere in its skies or land. She frowns, looking down at the tall rocky mountains, covered in a soft layer of gray snow, and at the gray lakes, permanently frozen over with thick ice.

Cassian tends to smile whenever he catches sight of Fest, but Jyn can only frown.

She can already feel the cold, seeping from the clouds outside into the ship.

She tugs her new parka on.

Travia Chan was elected mayor of Fulcra four years previously, when Fest held its first government elections since the end of the war. It’d been a landslide victory; Travia’s work in the Fest Rebellion, and the Atrivis Sector Force, had been well-known, and Fest had long been primarily a planet of rebels, much to the Empire’s chagrin, and so the fall of the Empire had only added to Travia’s popularity.

Jyn walks towards City Hall now, where she is to meet Travia.

Snow whips past her head, and she adjusts the hood of her parka, pulling it up higher over her face, while tightening the scarf around her neck. Onderon is a humid jungle planet, meaning it is almost comically opposite to Fest, which is all dry snow, and frigid tundra. She shivers as she walks, as the snow flies up against her black parka, only adding to her belief that the planet recognizes her as an outsider and is targeting her specifically.

Cassian had always laughed whenever she’d stated this belief.

“I do think Fest can recognize outsiders,” he’d told her once, as they walked to a restaurant for dinner, holding hands so as not to lose the other in the gathering snowstorm. “It seemed to go out of its way to avoid my mother, while the winds and snow appeared determined to strike me, to knock me down.”

“But _I’m_ an outsider, and I think it might be trying to kill me,” Jyn had muttered, yanking her leg out of a snowdrift.

“People are not meant to survive in snow and ice like this,” Cassian had said, smiling. “But Festians do. It sounds to me like Fest is testing you, Jyn. Trying to see if you are as hardy as the rest of us.”

He’d considered it a compliment, while Jyn had just wondered as to what it had been about Serafima Andor that had made the snow seem to dance out of her way.

She’d also considered that Cassian’s childhood memories of his mother, and following her through the snow, might have been a little warped.

Now, Jyn shoulders her way through the snow, through sheer determination.

And pettiness, maybe.

She knows that she could survive on Fest if she wanted to, and she wants the actual planet to know it, too.

She reaches the dark building that is the Fulcra City Hall, and walks inside.

City Hall is neat, and tidy, and Jyn looks around the lobby for a moment, taking in the black and white colors that dominate every surface, as they do throughout Fest. There is a beautiful mosaic taking up most of the back wall of the lobby, a mosaic of a mountain range on Fest, and Jyn looks at it for a moment, impressed at the shading done by tiles in shades of white, black, and gray.

Fest takes its grayness very seriously, she knows.

She climbs up the stairs, towards the mayor’s office.

She actually has an appointment, had messaged Travia to expect her, and so she’s ushered in quite quickly.

Travia’s office is the first room Jyn has seen with any hint of color. A heavy steel desk and tall bookcases dominate the room, but there are a couple nice chairs padded with blue coverings, and a roaring yellow and orange fire in the fireplace, sending shadows over the walls.

Jyn sighs with relief at the warmth, and gratefully accepts Travia’s secretary’s offer of a cup of Festian spice tea.

She strips her parka off, and settles in the chair closest to the fire, tugging her gloves off to let the flames warm her hands.

“I expect the cold is a shock, compared to Onderon.”

Jyn jumps, and spins around; she hadn’t heard Travia come in.

She quickly gets to her feet, as Travia, in her repulsor-chair, moves to her side.

“Hello, Travia,” Jyn says, and shakes the older woman’s hand.

Travia Chan has to be in her mid-seventies, Jyn thinks, and her hair is a beautiful white, combed neatly around her face. Her sand-colored skin is a little more wrinkled now than Jyn remembers it being the last time she’d seen her, but her teardrop-shaped brown eyes are just as sharp and clear as ever, demanding respect, and exuding intimidation effortlessly.

“Hello, Jyn,” Travia returns, shaking Jyn’s hand warmly. “Please, sit down.”

Jyn does, returning to her seat in front of the fire. The secretary returns, leaving two cups of boiling tea complete with kettle, and a small plate of biscuits. Travia passes Jyn a cup and she takes it, smiling at the heat, letting it permeate her hands.

“Yes, the cold is a shock compared to Onderon,” Jyn says, answering Travia’s opening sentence at last. “I seem to always be a little surprised at how cold Fest is, no matter how many times I’ve been here before.”

Travia smiles. “Not too unusual. The cold can be… Horrifying to some, welcoming to others.”

“Yes,” Jyn agrees, because she’s seen how Cassian relishes it.

“How are you, Jyn?”

“I’m well,” Jyn says, and this is mostly the truth. She’s well, all things considered. “How are you, Travia?”

“Busy,” Travia says, but there’s a gleam in her eye, and Jyn knows Travia is not a woman accustomed to sitting around, to doing nothing. Travia has a long and decorated career, in the war and now in the official government, and Jyn expects she’s never once given any serious thought to retiring, or dialing her work back a little, even as she ages.

She is a lot like Cassian, in that way, and Jyn wonders if this unending drive to work, to the point of self-sacrifice, is a hallmark of Festians.

“Let’s get right to it then, shall we?” Jyn asks, and Travia’s smile widens.

She walks Jyn through the steps her office has been taking to alleviate the issues in the overburdened social systems. Fest had been in a state of crisis, more or less, for the majority of the Empire’s reign, and it was easy for things to slip through the cracks; and as always happens in difficult times when democracy is eroded, it was children, and the poor, who faced the heaviest cuts and struggles.

“We’ve lost track of so many people,” Travia says, and her eyes are somber, and Jyn knows that this is difficult for Travia to accept, as she’s a woman who had loved Fest and its people so much she led a war against its biggest threat. “Records, just completely destroyed. The Empire wanted to stamp us out, and so they burned so many of our files, and our histories, in the hopes it would erase us from existence.” She shrugs a little, and adds, “Well. That worked out for them.”

Jyn smiles.

Travia shares her hopes for this new orphanage for these lost children, including the idea that time and resources will be given to looking for these children’s families.

“They might have just gotten separated in the war,” Travia notes. “We’d like to reunite all we can.”

Fulcra is Fest’s capital, and its most populous and most advanced city, and so she wants to house the children here. It makes sense, and Jyn agrees.

Jyn offers her own experience with starting up the orphanage on Onderon, how she’d worked with the local government in Iziz, and then how the rest of the planet had shown interest, and then also several neighboring systems. Travia listens intently, going over the documents Jyn has brought with her, asking smart and inquisitive questions, and jotting down her own notes.

She looks very impressed when Jyn tells her, that in the two years the orphanage has existed, they’ve found homes for seventy-two children.

“That’s remarkable,” Travia says, and Jyn feels warmed by the honesty in her voice.

“It’s something,” Jyn says. “But there are still a lot of children in the area who need help.”

“And you’re helping so many,” Travia says. “You should be proud of yourself, Jyn.”

Jyn shrugs, and pours herself another cup of tea.

She and Travia have talked for hours at this point, have gone over all of Jyn’s papers and documents, and are now sitting more comfortably, closer to lounging in front of the roaring fire, snow still falling outside the window. Jyn has never spoken one-on-one with Travia for so long before, and is gratified at how well it’s gone.

Travia’s next question instantly reminds her of why she’d thought this meeting might be a little awkward.

“How’s Cassian?”

Jyn looks down at her cup of tea, swirling it idly. “Um. He’s good.”

She doesn’t know this for sure, as she hasn’t seen or talked to him in over two months, and she knows Cassian could’ve gotten himself in a whole world of trouble in that time.

“I haven’t spoken to him in a while,” Travia notes, looking at Jyn. “He sounded quite busy the last time we talked, describing an uprising by Imperial sympathizers on Geonosis. The war doesn’t seem to be quite over yet, everywhere in the galaxy.”

Jyn’s eyes flicker up, but Travia’s face is composed, betraying nothing. She looks back down at her tea.

“I suppose not,” Jyn says.

“I always hoped the war would end for him, though,” Travia says, thoughtfully, looking at the fire, and Jyn finally looks up at her fully. “I’ve said this to you before, but I’ve always been optimistic that Cassian would come back to Fest, for good. Help run things here. He’s always been so happy here, and I thought, after the Battle of Jakku, that he might decide to return.” She turns her head, staring straight at Jyn, and there is a knowing look in her eye.

“An old woman can dream,” Travia says.

“A younger woman can, too,” Jyn says. She sighs. “Who told you?”

“Leia Organa. I’d tried to reach Cassian directly, figuring he could pass on your contact information to me, but his office told me he was on a reconnaissance trip to Nal Hutta. But I have known Minister Organa for over a decade, and she knew how to find you, which was just as well.” Travia smirks. “The Minister mentioned, somewhat off-handedly, that Cassian might not be the best person to get in touch with about you, in the future, since you’d gotten divorced.”

“I like to think he won’t keep tabs on me,” Jyn mutters, “But I know him, and that seems unlikely, so it’s probably a safe bet to continue asking him about me, if you ever go looking for me again.”

Travia actually laughs at that.

“That may be so,” she says.

She straightens then, and looks Jyn square in the eye.

“I’m sorry, Jyn.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Jyn says, quickly, desperate for Travia to not have to ask her if she’s okay, to feel like she needs to check in with her. They don’t have that kind of relationship, and never have. “You knew we’d been separated for a while, so nothing’s changed. It’s just official now, and that’s fine.”

“Mm,” Travia says, in apparent agreement. “It’s still a difficult thing to go through.”

Jyn shrugs, but she can’t really disagree.

“I’m very grateful you decided to come here, anyway, to help me.”

“I’m not here for you,” Jyn says, but she keeps her voice even, and so she hopes her words don’t offend Travia.

The woman only blinks at her, passive, and Jyn remembers that her nickname in the Fest Rebellion had been _the Icewoman_.

It is a title with a real weight, particularly on a planet that is so familiar with ice, and its dangers.

“And I’m not here for _Fest_ ,” Jyn adds. “And I’m not here for Cassian, either.”

Because she doesn’t owe him anything.

She knows that.

“I’m here for the children,” she says. “Because they deserve everything we can give them, for what they’ve lost. And if I can help them, then… Then I will.”

It’s a short speech, but an impassioned one, which is basically a summary of Jyn’s career as a speechmaker.

Travia considers her words, and then she nods, and there is a gleam of clear approval in her eyes. She is certainly not offended by Jyn’s candor.

“Then you’re here for the right reasons,” Travia says. “Then you do the work you do for the right reasons. And that, _that_ … is very remarkable, Jyn Erso.”

Jyn looks at the cup of tea in her lap.

She knows it is.

 

* * *

 

**_Four years earlier, 6 ABY_ **

Cassian Andor is going to leave her.

Jyn has long been aware of this possibility, has feared it for longer still, but she stands in their apartment on Corellia, and she realizes that the possibility is about to become the reality.

Because Cassian’s desk, the one he’d had in their room on various Alliance bases, the one he’d brought with them for the move to Corellia, is covered in star charts and notes, documents detailing the movements of Imperial factions around the galaxy, and lists of remaining Alliance squads and soldiers.

Because his half of the closet is mostly filled with uniforms for the New Republic Military.

Because he’s been in meetings all week, and on conference calls, talking to tens of New Republic leaders, and former Alliance soldiers, and heads of various systems.

Because most of his things have been packed already, packed for various trips he’s taken around the galaxy in the last few months, and then never properly unpacked upon return, because he’d known he’d be leaving again, soon, for some other conference, for some other treaty signing.

Because he’d left the apartment early this morning, for a meeting with Leia Organa herself; newly minted Minister of Defense for the New Republic.

Jyn is pretty sure she knows what Leia is going to say.

So she sits at the table in the kitchen of their apartment, and she waits.

She thinks about how she has no New Republic Military uniforms, because she hadn’t enlisted with it.

Cassian had been quiet when she’d told him she didn’t want to. He’d simply nodded, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“That’s your choice,” he’d said, and she hadn’t missed the melancholy in his voice.

She thinks he’d known, then, where they were headed.

The Battle of Jakku was almost eight months ago, but politics are slow, and gridlock is real, and it’s taken this long for the New Republic to really get on its feet, to really establish itself. To have uniforms, and leaders, and departments.

To name Leia Organa as Minister of Defense.

Mon Mothma might have announced the implementation of the Military Disarmament Act, but there is still a New Republic Military, and it still needs soldiers to lead it, lifelong veterans to fight for it, smart and cunning people to run it, to defend it, to be there for it.

People like Cassian Andor.

Not people like Jyn Erso.

Jyn sits at the table, and she waits.

She hears the door unlock in the early afternoon, and she looks up.

Cassian walks inside, gently setting his bag down on a chair, pulling his jacket off and hanging it up in the hall closet.

He looks tired, she thinks, but oddly gratified, and she knows exactly what he’s going to tell her.

But she waits, and smiles when Cassian smiles at her, when he walks to her side and leans down to kiss her.

“Hey,” he says. “What have you been up to today?”

“Oh, you know,” she says. “Thinking.”

 _Thinking about how you’re going to leave me_.

“Mm,” Cassian says, going to the conservator and digging out leftovers from their dinner before.

They’d made Alderaanian food, going off recipes from Leia. A Ruica salad, Jyn making a skeptical face at the blue leaves while Cassian described its nutritional benefits, and Alderaanian stew, unique for its blend of spices and herbs, which they’d had to taste as they cooked, unsure of Leia’s recipe approximations of “a dash of” and “a hint of”. And then they’d baked homemade flatbread, though they’d largely eaten it straight out of the oven, barely waiting to let it cool, and they’d drunk Alderaanian wine, and Jyn remembers how the color had dyed Cassian’s lips a dark red, how she could taste it on him when he’d kissed her.

She remembers all of this, as Cassian sits across from her, with the leftover Ruica salad.

He begins to eat, and she can only watch him, and hope her expression is calmer than she feels.

After a couple minutes of this, Cassian stops, frowning at her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He asks, and she wonders what her face really looks like, since he’s obviously become aware of some kind of turmoil in her.

She swallows. “What did Leia say, Cassian?”

He stills. She watches as he straightens, gently pushing his plate aside.

“She offered me a job,” he says, and Jyn is oddly grateful for his honesty, for the fact that he does not try to downplay this with anything else, with lies or complacencies.

He respects her too much for that, she thinks.

“What’s the job?”

“Head of Intelligence for the Outer Rim,” Cassian says, softly. “It’d basically be what I’d been doing for the Alliance. I’d also be a Senior Advisor to her, personally, in matters of defense and strategy.”

Jyn nods. “ _Where_ is the job?”

“With the capital,” Cassian says. “Chandrila.” His eyes flicker to Jyn’s face. “It couldn’t be anywhere else. That’s where the Department of Defense is, where New Republic Intelligence is going to be set up…”

“And you’d be running it.”

“Yes.”

They sit there in silence, and look at each other.

“What did you tell her?” Jyn asks.

But she already knows the answer.

Cassian knows she does, too. He tells her anyway.

“I said yes, Jyn,” he says, quietly. “I told her I’d be there next week.”

Jyn closes her eyes.

“Chandrila’s nice,” Cassian continues. “It’s small, and it’s got seas, and plains. Gentle seasons, warm summers, moderate winters. It’s peaceful.”

“Peaceful,” Jyn repeats.

_Can it really be peaceful when you’re fighting a war from it?_

“Yes,” Cassian says. “Mothma has always spoken very fondly of Chandrila, and the oceans, in particular. It’d be… I think it’d be milder than Lah’mu, but it sounds like the seas are similar--”

“Don’t,” Jyn says sharply, cutting him off. “Don’t you dare. It’d be nothing like Lah’mu, and you know it.”

Cassian nods, and he does not fight her on this.

“You know why I said yes, Jyn,” he says. “You knew Leia was going to ask, and you knew I’d say yes to her. The war… The war isn’t over. There are still hundreds of Imperial factions around the galaxy, particularly in the Outer Rim, and we have to work against them, and quickly, and mobilize what we have--”

“Kriff, do you even hear yourself?” Jyn snaps. “You sound deranged, Cassian. You sound like some military zealot, like a warmonger.”

Cassian looks at her, and there is a new spark in his eyes, and she knows he doesn’t like her words, her calling him a warmonger, but she won’t take them back.

“I don’t _want_ war,” he says, voice hard. “But I know that peacetime is fragile. It’s going to require a lot of hard work, for people to always be on their toes, and following the movements of Imperial sympathizers. Those are the zealots, Jyn, and I--”

“But it doesn’t have to _be_ you,” Jyn explodes, waving her arms with her frustration. “You don’t _have_ to do this, Cassian! The Alliance disbanded, so you and I, we were discharged. We’re free to go. We can do whatever we want, we can go to Lah’mu, at last, or, kriff, you could probably talk me into going to Fest--”

“It _does_ have to be me,” Cassian says, his voice rising to match her own. “No one else does what I do, Jyn. No one else has done it for as long as me. Leia knows that, that’s why she’s asked me--”

“This isn’t about Leia, she can do whatever she wants--”

“She’s doing what she wants to do, what she _needs_ to do, and I’m going to, as well--”

“This isn’t what _I want_ , though!” Jyn yells, and part of her thinks it’s almost comical, how they’re yelling in each other’s faces, while still sitting at the small table in the kitchen.

“I want peace, Cass,” Jyn continues. “I want to live a normal life, for _once_. I’ve never had that before, and I have an opportunity to, now, and I think we should go for it. We have a real chance here, to be the people we’ve always wanted to be, but couldn’t, because of the war.”

Cassian looks at her.

“This is who I am,” he says, softer now. “This has always been who I am, Jyn. There’s never been anything more for me. The cause, the Rebellion, the… It’s all _me_. There’s no… There’s no other me, no one else I could become. I’ve told you this.”

“I don’t believe you, though,” Jyn says. “I think there’s more for you. You’re just too scared to look for it.”

“ _Scared?_ ”

“Yes, scared,” she says, and he stares at her. “Because it means you’d have to acknowledge that the war is over, and that you have freedom. You can do whatever you want to, Cass. We both can. And I want us to go somewhere safe. I don’t want to be near the New Republic, and the Military, and whatever remnants of the war there are in the galaxy.”

“But Jyn,” Cassian says, and his eyes are dark, and wide, and he looks so sorry. “That’s exactly what I want.”

They look at each other.

Jyn abruptly gets to her feet, and leaves the kitchen.

She can hear Cassian following her, and the apartment is too small, there is nowhere for her to hide, no underbelly of a shuttle, no hidden compartment behind her parents’ house.

She walks into their bedroom, and spins on her heel, and Cassian almost runs into her.

He looks down at her, and she can see the future in his eyes.

She closes her eyes.

“No,” she says.

“I’m going to Chandrila,” he murmurs. “I’m going to work in the New Republic Military. I’m… I can’t stop fighting, Jyn. I _can’t_.”

“ _Please_ ,” she whispers, and her voice breaks, and she can practically feel the way Cassian freezes, because she’s begging, because she knows she is and Cassian does too, and she’s never begged for anything before. “Please, no. Don’t… Don’t go.”

His hand brushes her face, and she forces her eyes open.

“Don’t ask me to do this,” he whispers. “Please, don’t.”

“I have every right to,” she says, and some of her anger returns, momentarily crushing the pain. “I’m your wife. We promised each other we’d stick together. Do you remember that, Cassian? You said, _I will_. You promised to stay with me.”

“And I told you,” Cassian says, avoiding her eyes, “Six years ago, that the cause was everything to me.” Slowly, he looks back at her, and there are a thousand apologies in his eyes, and she wants to drag every single one out of him.

“I told you that I would put the cause before you, one day.”

The words sting, and he looks for a moment like he regrets them.

But he’s only telling her the truth.

She scrabbles for her anger.

“This isn’t the _cause_ ,” she snaps. “This isn’t the war we signed up for. This is not the war we spent our childhoods fighting. This is not the war the Alliance was created to take up arms against, this is not the war you and I met during! This isn’t the war _Rogue One_ died in.”

“It’s still the war,” Cassian says. “I’m fighting the same kind of people, the Imperials, they’re just scattered now, and smaller in number; but it’s _them_ , Jyn. It’s the people who killed our friends, and our families.”

“Then let someone else fight them,” Jyn hisses. “Don’t stay in the military. Don’t go to war zones. Don’t throw yourself in front of the line of fire, again, and again, because I can’t watch you do that anymore, not when you don’t have to. This is not your war, Cassian.”

Cassian is already shaking his head.

“It’s still my war, Jyn,” he breathes. “It’s the one I grew up in, the one I’ve always known. All I’ve ever known.”

“You could know _more_ ,” she whispers, and she hates herself, because she can feel tears sliding down her face, and Cassian’s fingers brush her tears, and she slaps his hand away.

He stands there, a foot in front of her, his arms at his sides.

“Come with me,” he says. “To Chandrila. You don’t have to fight, of course you don’t, but you can still… You can do whatever you’d like to there, be whoever you want to be, but just… _Stay with me_.”

Cassian has already made his choice, she knows.

He’s decided to continue with the war. To transition with the war, into the New Republic Military. To keep doing what he’s always done, to keep fighting as he always has.

It’s all he’s ever known.

It’s all he’s ever wanted for himself.

He’s never known to ask for anything more. Never thought it possible.

“You deserve peace,” she whispers. “I know you don’t believe me, but… You do, Cassian. Just walk away. Don’t… Don’t let this swallow you up. You can have more.”

By that, she means, _You can have me_.

He looks at her, and she knows he’s understood that much.

Because he understands her so well, so brilliantly.

“This is it for me, Jyn,” he says, softly. “The war, the fighting. I… I’m a soldier. And a spy. And an assassin, and a murderer, and a thief, and a liar-”

“And my _husband_ ,” Jyn snaps, her voice rising again. “You are all of those things, I know that, believe me, I _do_ , but you are also my husband, and you owe me just as much as you think you owe… what, the galaxy? Leia? The Alliance? What about _me_ , Cassian? What happens to me? What do you owe me?”

He closes his eyes, his hands tightening into fists at his sides.

“I always told you that you are better than me,” he murmurs, and Jyn knows that this is her answer.

And her explanation.

“You bastard,” she says, practically snarls it. “You knew this was always going to happen, didn’t you? You never thought the war was going to end, but you still… Why the hell did you marry me?”

His eyes open, and he stares at her.

“Because I love you,” he says, like this should be enough.

In a kinder universe, Jyn thinks it would be.

If they were any other people, maybe, then.

“That’s never been enough, though,” she says, her lips twisting, fighting to keep herself composed, fighting to hold herself together. “You’ve never loved me like you’ve hated yourself. Or like how you’ve loved your cause.”

“Jyn--”

“And you’re right, you did tell me that,” she continues. “You warned me, six years ago, that this was going to happen. That this end was inevitable. Kriff. I was the moron who thought you’d changed. I was stupid enough to think I could make you stay with me.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” Cassian says. “I never have.”

“But you’re going to, so does that mean anything? Does that matter?”

He looks away, swallowing. “No.”

“I can’t go to Chandrila,” Jyn says, and she needs him to understand this. “I just… I’m so done, Cassian. I’m done with the war, with… with fighting, even. I just want to go _home_.”

He nods, still avoiding her eyes. “You should get to go home, Jyn. I understand.”

“You should get to go home, too.”

He looks up at her then, and shakes his head.

“No,” he says, and there’s a wry smile on his face. “No, I shouldn’t. It’s… peacetime isn’t for me. I’m not meant for it.”

They stare at each other, and Jyn thinks the foot of space between them might as well be an ocean.

She closes her eyes.

_“Your father would’ve been proud of you, Jyn.”_

_His eyes are shining a little, and she can’t tell if it’s the delirium from his broken body, or just the effect of the wall of light speeding towards them, but she swallows, hard, because he’s told her exactly what she needs to hear, now, facing the end._

_She fumbles for his hand, and he clutches back, just as strongly._

_“I’m proud of us,” she says, because she thinks he needs to hear this._

_He looks at her, and his eyes are filled with light_.

She remembers this moment, and thinking they were going to die there, together, on that beach on Scarif, Rogue One already gone.

She thinks that in another universe, a nearby one, they did die there.

She wonders if they were always meant to.

“I’m so sorry,” Cassian says, breaking the silence.

She opens her eyes, and looks at him.

“I don’t want your apologies,” she says, quietly.

She thought she had, but she doesn’t. They mean nothing; they don’t make her feel better.

Cassian nods, like he’d expected as much.

“You can hate me,” he tells her. “If that makes things easier. That’s fine.”

“I _should_ hate you, Cassian,” she snaps back.

“I know,” he agrees. “It’s fine.”

Jyn shakes her head. “It’s not. It really isn’t.”

“I wish I was someone else,” Cassian says. “I wish I was… I wish I was the man you thought I was. I, I really, I just…”

But he trails off, and Jyn thinks it’s because he doesn’t know what to say.

He’s already told her everything about him, who he is.

For the first time, she wonders if he was right.

If he really is the cruel man he’s always told her he was. If he really doesn’t deserve peacetime. If he really is the bad person he’s always considered himself to be.

She thinks all this, and shakes her head.

She refuses to let that be true.

Cassian Andor is good, she thinks.

Even now; even as he breaks her heart.

She has faith in him.

“I wish you had the same faith in me that I do in you,” she says. “I wish that you _trusted_ me, and my judgment, like I trust you, and yours.”

Cassian’s head jerks up at that, and he starts shaking his head.

“Of course I trust you,” he says, and he looks almost scandalized, like these words of Jyn’s are entirely unexpected, and unfounded. “That has nothing to do with any of this. You’ve, you’ve just… Always had a higher opinion of me than I’ve ever deserved.”

“I am not the wrong one, here.”

He sighs.

“I’m going to Chandrila, Jyn,” he says, plainly, and though he doesn’t add _I’m leaving you_ , she thinks he might as well have. She hears it, clear enough.

“I can’t change your mind,” she says.

“And I can’t change yours.”

They’re both too stubborn, too convinced of their own beliefs.

She can’t make him stay with her, and he can’t talk her into following him to Chandrila.

“What happens now?” she asks.

He looks around their bedroom, at his clothes in the closet, at his half-packed bags on the floor. His eyes roam over every surface, including the poorly made bed, the plant on the windowsill, the hologram of Jyn and her parents on the dresser.

His eyes catch on it for a moment, and Jyn, viciously, hopes he looks at it and thinks what she’s thinking.

That another member of her family is abandoning her.

“I guess I pack,” he says, at last.

She shakes her head, but she has nothing to add, no grand argument to make.

She understands everything, finally.

She understands that they were always headed for this, that this last big fight is barely a fight at all, but rather, both of them talking themselves into their long-held conclusions, acknowledging at last how they’ve grown apart.

She understands that this was inevitable. That Cassian has always put the cause before her. That this is the moment where the cause asks of him something different than what she asks of him, and that he has chosen to follow the cause. To follow the war.

She realizes that she can’t convince him of his value, to her.

That she values him more than the war.

That she _loves_ him, more than the war does.

She’ll never be able to. She will always fail.

This is the one war she cannot win, and it’s the one she was most desperate to win.

And so Jyn walks out of the bedroom, and into the kitchen, and pours herself a glass of wine.

She listens as Cassian moves around the apartment, as he packs his things. She hears him going through the closet, hears him piling his shoes, hears him organizing his blasters and other assorted weapons, accumulated over the years.

He doesn’t have much, personally.

He never has.

She drinks her wine, and she waits.

It only takes him half an hour to pack his things, and she thinks there’s something tragic even in that.

She hears him walk into the kitchen, standing behind her.

“Jyn,” he says, softly.

“All set?” She replies, and she’s proud that her voice doesn’t shake, proud that she sounds nonchalant, like everything they’ve spent the past six years working towards isn’t collapsing around them.

“Jyn,” he says, again, and she thinks of how this might be the last time she hears him say her name, and the thought makes her tremble, and so she sets down her glass so he can’t see the way the wine is sloshing around, dangerously.

“Please, look at me,” Cassian says.

She doesn’t know how she does it, but she forces herself to her feet, to turn and face him.

He’s already pulled his jacket back on, and she sees now that it’s one of his newer ones, with the insignia of the New Republic just over his heart, and she thinks that’s perfect. It’s entirely accurate.

It helps her keep her face composed, even when she meets his eyes.

“I love you,” he says, and whatever she’d been expecting him to say, the moment before his departure, wasn’t that.

“You say that like it should mean something,” she snaps, and he winces, but she plows on. “You say that like it should be a comfort. It’s hollow, Cassian. Like this entire kriffing marriage was hollow.”

“It’s still the truth,” he says, and he holds his chin high, his dark eyes unreadable. “I understand why you don’t believe me, but that doesn’t change that I mean it.”

“I guess you might really love me,” she says, thoughtfully. “People who love me tend to leave me, so. You fit right in, don’t you?”

He takes her words in, but he doesn’t dispute them.

He can’t.

“I won’t wish that you’ll forgive me for this,” Cassian murmurs. “But I wish… I hope that you find that peace you’re looking for, Jyn. I hope you’re happy. You truly deserve that. And, if… if you ever need me, just call? I’ve left my contact information, and Leia’s, on the bed, so please, if you need me, call, and I’ll--”

“I won’t,” she snaps, interrupting him. “I can survive without you, Cassian. I did it for the first twenty-two years of my life, I’m quite confident I can do it again.”

“I know,” he says, quickly. “But I just, uh… If you need anything, anything at all--”

“I won’t,” she says, again, because if he can not need her that easily, she can not need him just as easily.

She keeps her head up, her chin high, and she does not cry.

She will, later, after he’s gone.

But she wants him to have this last memory of her, of her defiant, of her distant, of her furious.

She’d prefer that, to how she really feels.

“Okay,” Cassian says, and he nods. “Okay. Just… Take care of yourself, Jyn.”

“You, too,” she says, because she can wish him that much.

She isn’t the one leaving to fight in a war.

She looks at Cassian, and she thinks this could be the last time she sees him alive.

That the next time, he’ll be in a box, and she’ll be charged with transporting his body to Fest, to bury him under the snow and ice with his long-dead family. It’s a promise she made to him, six years earlier, and it’s one she’s always intended to keep.

He takes a step towards her, lifting his arm to touch her face, and she takes a quick step back.

“ _Don’t_ ,” she breathes. “Don’t touch me.”

Because if he touches her, she’ll break, then and there.

She’ll beg him, again, to stay.

And she _cannot_ do that.

Because he’ll leave, anyway. No matter what she says.

_“Are you with me?”_

Cassian nods, and steps back again.

“Okay,” he says, and his voice trembles, and she closes her eyes, tightly, because she can’t see his tears. “I… I am sorry, Jyn. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I am… I am so sorry.”

Without waiting for a response--without waiting for the forgiveness he won’t get from her--he turns, and walks out of the kitchen.

She remains standing there, and she listens as he gets his things, as he opens the door of the apartment.

She startles when the door slams closed.

It is very quiet.

She stands there, and then she picks up her half-drunk glass of wine, and she throws it at the wall.

It shatters into a hundred pieces, staining the white wall with a splash of red, dark as blood.

She picks up a vase of soft yellow flowers, flowers Cassian had seen at a farmer’s market a couple days earlier, and brought home to add some color to their still largely undecorated apartment, and she hurls the vase at the wall, and listens to the crash as it breaks.

She does this with dishes, with plates, with bowls, with glasses.

She smashes everything she can in the kitchen, and then she moves into the bedroom, and throws her own things around, her own clothes, and shoes, and jackets, upending the room, tearing everything apart, destroying any semblance of order, of normalcy.

She stops when she grabs for the hologram of her and her parents.

She stares at it.

She looks at her father’s soft smile, the way he gazes at his daughter.

She looks at her mother’s bright eyes, the way she cradles her daughter in her arms.

She looks at her younger self, at her delighted grin, as she laughs, and laughs.

Jyn’s legs give out.

She slides to the floor, clutching the hologram.

Her father, who abandoned her.

Her mother, who abandoned her.

And now she has a husband, who also abandoned her.

She thinks of how Cassian did not once bring up divorce. She thinks of how Cassian still has the kyber crystal necklace she’d given him two years ago, on their wedding day, the kyber crystal necklace that had once belonged to Lyra Erso.

She wonders if he’d forgotten he has it, having been wearing it for two years already.

She thinks that’d be fitting, when paralleled to their marriage.

She reaches for the kyber crystal around her neck, and considers taking it off, of throwing it away.

She thinks that’d also be fitting, when paralleled to their marriage.

But in the end, she doesn’t take it off.

She simply holds the crystal in her hand, and sits on the floor of her destroyed bedroom, and she breathes.

 

* * *

 

**_Present, 10 ABY_ **

Jyn throws herself into establishing an orphanage on Fest.

She works closely with Travia, and her office, and this is how she meets Amaia Chias.

Amaia is in her mid-twenties, with thick dark brown hair that falls to her waist, and warm brown skin. She has big hazel eyes, and a crooked smile, and a scar running the length of her face, which she tells Jyn she got from being hit by some kind of tool, tossed haphazardly by a stormtrooper, when they raided her father’s hardware store.

“I don’t remember much,” she says, her accent clearly Festian like Cassian’s, but slightly different, as she’d grown up in Edur, a city on the other side of the planet, and not Fulcra. “I remember the stormtroopers, and their mechanical chatter, and something silvery flying at me, and then a sharp pain on my face, and then… Nothing. I was knocked out, and I woke up with this scar. I was twelve.”

She’d lost her mother in the war, after she’d joined the Fest Rebellion, and the Atrivis Sector Force.

“She would be very proud of Fest, today,” Amaia says.

Amaia’s goal now matches Jyn’s: she wants to help the children left behind in the war. She’s been pushing for a place for these displaced children for years, and now that Travia’s office has approved and funded an orphanage, she’s eager to get started.

Jyn is, as well.

She leases an apartment in the heart of Fulcra, and messages Edvar on Onderon, confirming that she’s agreed to help Travia, and that she doesn’t know yet when she’ll return. She thinks Amaia would be a perfect fit to run the place, once it’s established, though Amaia works as a teacher in Fulcra, and isn’t sure she wants to give up her career in teaching to run an orphanage full-time.

At the very least, Amaia insists that she’ll need help for the first couple years, like Jyn had with Edvar on Onderon.

“You can find someone here to help you,” Jyn says, when Amaia says this.

Amaia looks at her. “Have you ever thought about staying on Fest, Jyn?”

And Jyn laughs at this.

Because she can honestly say she’s never once even considered settling, permanently, on Fest.

She never thought about it even when she was with Cassian, because he never displayed an interest in returning to Fest for good. Even as Travia vocally, and frequently, wished he would, he didn’t. And so Jyn hadn’t, either.

She’d been a little relieved, if she’s being honest; Fest is so _cold_.

Jyn has told Amaia a little about Cassian; it’d been necessary, as Amaia had lots of questions as to how Jyn knows Travia, and how Jyn has come to know so much about Fest, and its culture, and her way around the capital city.

She tells Amaia that she has an ex-husband from Fest, who she fought in the war alongside, and that was how they met. She tells Amaia that they’re divorced now, that he works for the New Republic, and that they’re both doing just fine.

Amaia gets a sad look in her eyes when Jyn offers this brief history, and so Jyn quickly changes the subject.

She doesn’t want her pity.

She and Amaia go around the city, looking at potential sites.

Jyn has a list of qualifications. A safe neighborhood is mandatory, and close proximity to some sort of park or playing area would be a bonus. She learns that Fest doesn’t have any outdoor parks; Amaia takes her to an underground gymnasium, and Jyn stares around with a mix of awe and alarm, taking in the playground that is all indoors, at the children running around the rooms, playing tag and grav-ball like children in other systems do outside.

“We’d never use outdoor parks,” Amaia says, catching sight of Jyn’s face. “It’s far too cold.”

This makes sense, and Jyn can’t believe she never once considered it. She remembers Cassian telling her about going with his brother to an indoor gymnasium, but she hadn’t understood that it was the only kind of public space available for children to play in.

She isn’t sure how she feels about this.

Jyn spent several years on Lah’mu, and she loved getting to play outside, to run down to the beach, to play in the sand. She frequently took toys and dolls on long voyages through her mother’s fields of crops, and imagined epic quests around her father’s scientific equipment. Her parents were lenient with her, and encouraged her freedom, so long as she was home before dark.

But she thinks this was also because Lah’mu was so secluded.

It was a settler’s world, and so there were few families in their sector, and no immediate neighbors. Jyn loved her time on Lah’mu, but it was lonely, too; she only had a couple friends, and she saw them very infrequently, only when her parents took her with them on a trip to a port town for supplies.

Her favorite thing about Fest, she thinks, is how it is bursting with people.

People crowding in indoor markets, talking candidly and loudly with one another, in Basic and Festian. People walking through underground tunnels, avoiding the snow-covered streets above, children holding their parents’ and older siblings’ hands so as to not get lost in the melee. Restaurants and bars are always full, broadcasting the holonet, sporting events in systems far away, which the Festians respond to with loud opinions and irritated arguments.

There is a sense of community in Fulcra, and Jyn can’t help but admire it.

Children walk together in groups, older siblings with the young, and there is a feeling of pack safety, that the entire city is keeping an eye on them, making sure they are where they’re supposed to be. One day, Jyn caves and goes to a store to buy yet another sweater, and as she’s looking at wool, she catches sight of the shopkeeper, an older woman with graying hair, tuck a new pair of earmuffs around a little girl’s head, grinning at the girl’s delighted laughter.

The shopkeeper kisses the girl’s cheek, and sends her out the door, and winks at Jyn.

“A relative?” Jyn guesses.

“Oh, no,” the shopkeeper says. “Well. Not technically. But her mother grew up in the house next door to mine, and she played with my children, so her daughter feels a little bit like my own grandchild. Her family is going through difficult times, and she does need new earmuffs, so.” The shopkeeper shrugs.

She says this all so nonchalantly, as if this is typical, this act of generosity, but Jyn can only stare.

People are so free with their love on Fest.

Cassian had hinted as much to her, as evidenced by how calmly he’d first told her that he loved her, and added that he’d grown up in a family that took care to vocalize their love, that never hesitated to offer affection.

But Jyn hadn’t really understood this to be typical of most Festians, and she thinks this is because the only other Festian she’s known is Travia, the Icewoman.

She mentions this to Amaia one day, and Amaia snorts.

“Fest is gray,” she says, as she looks over building plans in Jyn’s small apartment, the fire roaring in the grate behind her. “But the people are far from it. We have to help each other, and stick together, if we are to survive in the ice.”

And this makes sense, but it is still remarkable to Jyn.

She peppers Amaia with questions, having more questions about Fest than she ever has before, as she spent so little time here with Cassian. She asks Amaia for more details on the planet’s history, and Amaia, as a teacher, is eager to share, frequently gifting classic literature and history books to Jyn that her schoolchildren read for her class.

She’s a little amused, Jyn thinks, at Jyn’s interest, but also genuinely happy to talk about her home.

And if Jyn is going to start up an orphanage for children on Fest, she needs to understand them.

Jyn speaks more Festian now than she ever has before, and it follows a long period where she didn’t speak a single word. She speaks slowly, and stumbles through her words, but Amaia is patient, and kind, and corrects Jyn’s grammar and pronunciation with grace.

Festian has over two-hundred words for snow, which Jyn has a difficult time comprehending.

“How do you keep track of them all?” She asks, frustrated, after Amaia corrects her description of the previous day’s snowfall.

“I don’t know?” Amaia replies, hesitant, because she has likely never wondered this before. “We just do. It’s almost innate.”

There is nothing innate about Fest, to Jyn.

Not the cold, not the frost.

And not the warmth of the people, their support for one another, their compassion, their devotion.

Jyn knows she is an outsider, in every sense. She definitely looks like one, with her paler skin, and the parkas she wears even as native Festians go for lighter jackets, so used to cold temperatures.

And she feels like an outsider, in that she is constantly surprised by the people.

Her neighbors, who take care to introduce themselves to her, who ask her polite questions about herself, who bring her food as a welcoming gift, who often check in with her. The owners of the shops and markets she frequents, who actually ask her for her name, who always remember exactly who she is, and what she’s doing on Fest. Her contacts in City Hall and around the city, who go out of their way to get her the information and data she needs, who respond to her inquiries almost immediately, who offer their advice on the best restaurants for her to try.

Travia, who she sees twice a week, who always has a cup of Festian spice tea ready for her.

Amaia, who Jyn quickly grows to adore, who is constantly smiling, who is so cheerful, who introduces Jyn to all her friends, until one day Jyn wakes up and realizes she actually _has friends on Fest_.

People who like her, who know her, who are so kind to her.

She doesn’t know what to make of any of it.

“Why are you so surprised that people like you?” Amaia asks, when Jyn brings this up one day, after she’s been on Fest for almost a month and a half, as they walk through the street towards Jyn’s apartment.

It hasn’t snowed in four days, and temperatures have been warmer than normal, and Amaia almost has a spring in her step, her hair swinging around her waist, her eyes bright. Jyn is still bundled up in comparison, but she’s ditched her parka, a decision that Amaia had made much ado over.

“I’m not used to people liking me,” Jyn says, and this is true.

It’s been five years since the war ended, since Jyn Erso stopped fighting. Since she stopped being a criminal, ready to run at anything, ready to tear, ready to destroy, ready to kill.

She’s always been hard to get along with, she knows. She’d been aloof, and indifferent, and devoted only to herself, for so long. She’d had her own moral compass, and it’d pointed back at herself, at her own beliefs and opinions.

She’d changed over the course of the war, had come to care for more, for the Alliance, for the galaxy.

For Cassian, who’d loved her as she transitioned through it all, as she’d changed.

Until the day she’d woken up and realized she didn’t want to fight anymore.

That she wanted more.

She blinks, and pulls herself out of the somber memories.

“That’s ridiculous,” Amaia notes, sidestepping a sheet of ice. “A lot of people do. You’re generous, and funny, and thoughtful; of course people like you. _I_ do.”

“I like you too, Amaia.”

“Even if your cooking leaves something to be desired.”

Jyn laughs, but she can’t disagree; she knows she isn’t a good cook.

Amaia has been patiently teaching her various Festian dishes, but she just can’t get them right, not like Amaia can, and not like Cassian can. He’d tried to teach her several times, over the years, but had eventually come to agree that it was just not Jyn’s forte.

“Good thing I’m here,” he’d joke, and smile at her.

She’s torn from the memory when she hears a mechanical clicking noise.

She stills, instantly, there on the sidewalk, because she recognizes it.

She’s heard it hundreds of times over her life.

She looks ahead of them, and sees a couple of city maintenance workers, apparently working on fixing a clogged grate, begin to run.

“What the--” Amaia starts.

But she cuts off, gasping, when Jyn moves, jumping up and tackling the taller woman to the cold street, just as the bomb goes off.

It blows out the windows of every building in the vicinity, sending shards of glass spiraling to the snowy street below. Jyn covers her head with one arm, while using the other to cover Amaia’s, sprawling herself on top of her friend to shield her from the bulk of the blast.

Rubble and debris rain down around them, and Jyn feels something hit her back, so hot it burns through her coat, until she gasps at the heat on her skin.

She quickly rolls to her back, letting the frozen ice under her suffocate the flames.

She stares at the gray sky, as bits of ash fall down around them.

And it is so familiar, and so unnatural, and Jyn knows she’s in shock.

Her heart is beating furiously in her chest, her breath coming in gasps, and she can hear Amaia calling her name, sounding like she’s coming from somewhere very far away, and everything goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to the song "Safe Now" from the CAPTAIN PHILLIPS soundtrack on repeat while writing that last big apartment fight/flashback. Never seen the movie, but great soundtrack by Henry Jackman. "Safe Now" in particular has both a sorrow, and an inevitability to it that I was really looking to capture.
> 
> Travia Chan is an Old EU character. In this story, post-war, she is the mayor of Fulcra, which in this series is the capital of Fest, where Cassian grew up.
> 
> Amaia Chias is an original character, with a name that supposedly means "the end."


	9. In spe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In spe: in hope.
> 
> Or: the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins immediately after the ending of the last chapter.

A persistent beeping noise wakes her up.

Jyn comes to herself slowly, first becoming aware of a pain in her back. Her whole body seems to ache, and for a moment, she wonders why this is, until she suddenly remembers Amaia, and the snowy street, and the bomb.

Her eyes fly open, as all her breath escapes her.

“Sshh, Jyn, you’re okay,” Amaia says, and Jyn blinks as Amaia’s face fills her vision, the younger woman leaning over her. “Breathe, just breathe.”

“What…” Jyn coughs a little, and Amaia starts shaking her head.

“You’ve probably swallowed some ash, hang on--”

She vanishes from sight for a moment, returning with a cup of water, which Jyn takes, gratefully.

“What happened?” She asks, once her throat feels less charred.

“They think it was a bomb leftover from the war,” Amaia says, sitting in the chair next to Jyn’s bed. Now that she’s more aware, Jyn realizes that she’s in a hospital, lying on a gurney, and that her back seems to be coated in bandages. “We have a few of those still around Fulcra, though the majority have been decommissioned by now. Every now and then we stumble across one, like you and I did today.”

“Did… Did anyone get hurt?”

“Couple of burns, like yours,” Amaia says, and Jyn winces at the pain in her back. “But that was the extent of the injuries. There were a few fires in the buildings around the site, but nothing too dangerous. They were put out quickly, and a bomb squad verified that there was no remaining danger.”

Jyn nods, taking this in.

Amaia has a strained look on her face.

“You heard the bomb before I did,” she says. “You knew what it was. And you tackled me to the ground. You saved my life, Jyn.”

“It’s nothing,” Jyn says, quickly, because Amaia looks like she might cry.

“It was very, very brave, and I am so grateful--”

“Please, don’t,” Jyn says, feeling distinctly uncomfortable and exposed, with most of her chest and back covered in bandages.

But Amaia opens her mouth to say more, and so Jyn cuts her off.

“Amaia, do you know if I can get out of here?”

“The doctor wanted to talk to you,” Amaia says. “I can go find her?”

“Yes, please.”

Amaia stands, and presses a kiss to Jyn’s hair, before darting out of the room.

Jyn watches her go.

She hopes Amaia decides to drop this, to forget Jyn pulling her down to the street to avoid the blast. She doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it; Jyn had acted instinctively, more or less. She would’ve done the same for anyone standing next to her at the time, if she’d known them or not.

She’d tackled Cassian to the ground on Jedha, and shielded him from a blast, and she’d only known him for half a day at the time.

She’s snapped out of this recollection by the doctor arriving, and closing the door behind her.

“Hello, Jyn,” the doctor says, smiling warmly. “Can I call you Jyn? I’m Dr. Tokani. There are a few things I’d like to talk to you about of a private nature, so I’ve asked your partner to remain outside. Unless you’d like her here?”

Jyn thinks of correcting Dr. Tokani, of telling her that Amaia is not her partner, but decides it isn’t worth it.

But she doesn’t want Amaia in here, to hear of Jyn’s injuries, and feel guilt or admiration, so she shakes her head.

Dr. Tokani sits in Amaia’s vacated chair.

“You had several fairly serious burns on your back,” Dr. Tokani says. “We’re treating them with bacta, and you got here quickly enough for us to start treatment that it looks like there will be minimum scarring.”

“Great,” Jyn says, though she doesn’t really care if she has scars or not.

“I did want to ask you,” Dr. Tokani says, and her voice has changed, has become more serious, and Jyn’s spine stiffens painfully with nervousness at what she might say.

“... If you knew that you’re pregnant?”

There is a very long silence after Dr. Tokani asks this question.

Wherein the doctor looks very calmly at Jyn, who has begun to think she’s hit her head very hard on the frozen street, and is hallucinating.

“Jyn?”

“I…” Jyn starts, and stops. “I, uh… No?”

Dr. Tokani doesn’t look amused, or disapproving. She looks very professional, as she turns to the datapad on her lap.

“We’ve estimated you’re about fourteen weeks along, does that sound right?”

Jyn blinks.

_She kisses him, and runs her hands through his hair, and she turns her head up as he kisses down her neck, and she looks at the blue-green branches of the force-sensitive tree, and she breathes his name--_

“Oh kriffing _hell_ ,” she says, now.

A hint of amusement makes its way through the doctor’s steel-blue eyes.

“We did an examination, earlier, and everything looks okay,” Dr. Tokani continues. “But you’re still fairly early in the pregnancy, and we thought you might not even be aware of it.”

“I definitely was not.”

Dr. Tokani nods.

“Well, then,” she says, and adjusts the datapad in her hands. “Do you have any questions?”

 

* * *

 

When Amaia is let back into Jyn’s room, it is nearly an hour later, and it is to find Jyn sitting stock-straight in her hospital bed, her green eyes wide, and staring at absolutely nothing.

Jyn is vaguely aware of Amaia all but running to her side, and taking her hand.

“What is it?” Amaia asks, breathless, and likely thinking of a whole host of serious, dangerous illnesses and injuries. “What’s wrong?”

Jyn blinks, and turns her head slowly, and Amaia’s face blanches at the tears in Jyn’s eyes.

“Oh, _gods_ , Jyn what--”

“I’m not dying, Amaia,” Jyn says, and Amaia breathes a loud sigh of relief, touching Jyn’s face.

“Why are you crying, Jyn?”

Jyn’s lip trembles.

“I’m not sure why, yet,” she says, slowly. “But, I. I’m going to have a baby.”

 

* * *

 

**_Eight years earlier, 2 ABY_ **

“His name is Poe,” Shara says.

Jyn sits next to her, slowly, and she knows it’s ridiculous, but she can’t help but be afraid that any quick movement will be enough to dislodge the baby from his mother’s arms. Cassian seems to agree with her, as he stands a good foot away, leaning over Jyn, to look down at the four-month-old baby.

He’s barely awake, brown eyes blinking slowly, and clearly unaware of any new visitors. He’s been wrapped up tightly in a soft green blanket, but he’s managed to free one arm, which is waving, sporadically.

“He grabs hair, so be careful,” Shara says, and with no other warning, she passes Poe into Jyn’s arms.

Jyn gulps, and Kes, sitting next to Shara, snorts.

“It’s a baby, not a bomb, Jyn.”

“I’d be more comfortable holding a bomb,” Jyn says, and they all know this is not hyperbole.

Still, she mimics Shara’s stance, cradling Poe in her arms, holding him close to her chest.

“Hi, Poe,” she says, and her voice is a squeak.

Shara smiles. “This is Jyn, Poe. Say hi.”

Poe only blinks, but his eyes seem to focus somewhat, and he stares at Jyn.

She stares back, green eyes wide, and nervous.

“You’re going to lose that staring contest,” Kes says. “He is an excellent stare-er. It’s almost creepy.”

“He has a lot to see,” Shara says.

“Cass,” Jyn whispers, almost desperately, and Cassian crouches down next to her, putting his face at Poe’s level.

“This is Cassian, Poe,” Shara says, grinning.

“Hello, Poe,” Cassian says, and he carefully reaches an arm out, brushing Poe’s forehead with his fingers.

His brown skin is soft, and so warm, and his sparse black hair looks almost petal-like, like one quick jab would knock it all away.

Jyn stares at Poe, because he is so young, and so innocent.

So new to the galaxy, so unaware of the dangers of it, of the evils in it.

Cassian goes to pull his hand back, but Poe seizes one of his fingers in his tiny fist.

“He has a strong grip,” Cassian says, and he sounds surprised.

“Tell me about it,” Shara mutters. “ _Hair_.”

Poe Dameron blinks up at Jyn, and Jyn wonders what he’s thinking, if he can possibly be thinking anything, so young, and so new. Jyn has never been this close to a baby before; she was an only child, and much of her life has been spent in war zones and on military bases, where babies are not frequently found. The ones she’s seen have been from more of a distance, out of her reach, and she’s been perfectly fine with that.

Now she looks at Poe, and she swallows.

“He’s beautiful,” Cassian murmurs.

“He turned out all right,” Shara agrees, smiling.

“He’s got your eyes,” Jyn says. This is difficult to tell, as both Shara and Kes have brown eyes, but there’s no denying that the shape of Poe Dameron’s eyes is closer to Shara’s than Kes’.

Shara nods. “Yeah, those Sernpidal eyes genes are _strong_.” She looks up at Jyn and Cassian, and smirks. “You heard it here first.”

Jyn blinks, and she has no idea how to respond to that.

Cassian puts his free hand on her knee, squeezing gently.

She doesn’t look at him, but she relaxes her shoulders a little, and in her arms, Poe Dameron yawns.

It is later that night, when they’re in the guest room of Kes’ brother’s home on Raxus, where Shara and Kes have brought Poe to spend some time with his uncle before going back to Sernpidal, to stay with Shara’s father, who will take care of Poe when their family leave is up and they return to the Alliance, that Jyn turns to Cassian.

“Have you ever thought about having children?”

He stills, and then he turns his head to look at her. They’re lying in bed, side by side, but Jyn is on her stomach, her arms wrapped around her pillow, while Cassian lays on his back.

“Of course,” he says, as easy as anything.

She looks at him, and she fights to keep her expression passive. “And?”

“I think…” He pauses. “I think it’d be nice, but it seems unlikely. I… I think it’s great that Kes and Shara have Poe, but I… I wouldn’t want children until the war was over, and…”

“And you’re not sure that’ll ever happen.”

“No,” he says, quietly.

Jyn nods, looking thoughtful. “Did you ever talk… With Taraja?”

Cassian laughs. “Oh, kriff, no. No. We were way too young, and far too reckless, and irresponsible. It never came up.”

Jyn nods again, resting her chin on her arms. She doesn’t know why she decided to bring this up, what she wants Cassian to say, what she wants to say, but he speaks again, and steals her thoughts away.

“I’ve thought about what it’d be like, with you,” he says.

Her head snaps up, and she stares at him.

It’s dark, but she thinks she can see his smile.

“I think you’d be a great mother,” he continues.

She snorts. “Right.”

“I’m serious.”

“Well, what about you? Do you think that you’d be a good father?”

“I’d try not to be like my father,” Cassian says, and she thinks that this is the best he can offer.

His father left his family when he was a child.

“I’d try not to be like my father, too,” Jyn says, and Cassian snorts, though she’s being serious, and he knows it, and agrees.

Jyn smiles. “My mother was good, though. Mostly. I have… More positive feelings towards her than I do my father, anyway.”

“Mm. Same.”

“So we’ll just be like our mothers, and we’ll do okay.”

“Could certainly do worse,” Cassian agrees.

Jyn turns on her side, and stretches out her hand. Cassian catches it, and entwines his fingers with hers, and they look at each other, face to face.

“Girl or boy?” She asks, and she wonders why they’re talking about this, what good this could possibly do them.

She’s quite sure it’ll only leave them sad, because neither of them can imagine a future where this is possible, not at this point in the war.

But Cassian plays along, and pretends with her, for the moment, that it is possible.

“A girl,” he says, firmly.

“Really?”

“Why does that surprise you?” Cassian asks, frowning.

“I thought men were eager for sons,” Jyn says. “You know; passing on the name, and all that.”

Cassian laughs. “Look at my family, Jyn. My father was a Separatist devotee who abandoned my mother, and my siblings, and me, and died when I was a child, and I barely ever got to know him. And my brother was an Imperial who shot me, and might have murdered my sister. Andor men are consistently the worst. Let the name die with me, for all I care.”

“Kriff, Cassian, don’t hold back.”

“I’m just being honest,” he says. “Besides, historically, my favorite people have been women.”

And she realizes that this is also the truth.

More of Cassian’s most beloved mentors have been women; Travia Chan, on Fest, and Asori Joshi, on Coruscant. His closest friends in the Alliance are Leia Organa and Shara Bey. Nerezza was his favorite sibling, by a wide margin. He adored his mother more than he did his father, and mourned her loss more.

And he loved Taraja, more than anyone else, while she was alive.

And now he loves Jyn, more than anyone else.

Of course he loved Wada, his Rodian mentor on Fest. And he loved Ethan Bain, as his best friend during his years at the Royal Imperial Academy. And he loves Kes, in the Alliance now.

But more of Cassian’s close friendships, the most important people in his life, have been women.

“Huh,” Jyn says, and she isn’t sure what to make of this.

“A daughter,” Cassian says, and he smiles.

“I dunno. Kes and Shara seem to really like Poe.”

“That’s good, because they’re definitely stuck with him.”

Jyn laughs, and shuffles closer, worming her way under Cassian’s arm, pressing herself along his side. He pulls her close, and kisses the top of her head.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

And by that, he means, _Why did you bring this up?_

“Just… Poe, I guess,” she says, and this is the truth, more or less. “I just thought this seemed like something we should talk about, at some point.”

They’ve been together for over two years, which is a record for longest relationship, by a lot, for Jyn. She knows they have not yet surpassed the longest relationship Cassian has been in, but she also knows that he treats this relationship just as seriously as he did his relationship with Taraja.

“True,” Cassian agrees. He lifts his arm, brushing his fingers through her hair.

“I’ve thought about having kids with you, too,” she says, forcing the words out quickly.

“Tell me.”

“The war’s over,” she says, and she hears his soft intake of breath, yet another reminder that he truly believes this entire conversation is grounded in fantasy, that this will never come to pass for them.

And maybe he’s right.

She isn’t sure that he is.

“The war’s over, and we’re home,” she says.

“Where’s home?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” Jyn admits.

Home is an abstract, almost foreign thing to her. She’s never gotten to understand it fully, never gotten to embrace it for long. Cassian, wisely, says nothing to this admission.

“It’s quiet,” she says, because quiet is something she associates with peace. “And I’m standing outside, and I can feel the sun on my face, and I turn my head, and you’re walking away from me.”

As she speaks, she fiddles with the kyber crystal necklace around her throat.

“And there’s…” She swallows. “There’s someone following you. A child. I can never see their face, but they’re running after you, and I can hear them laughing, and I can hear you laughing too, and you start to run, and they chase after you, and you’re both laughing, and I am too. And we’re so happy.”

She stops speaking, swallowing with some difficulty.

Cassian is silent for a moment.

“That sounds wonderful,” he says, at last.

“It is,” she agrees.

His fingers drop from her hair.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

She shakes her head. “Don’t be. It is what it is. We have a lot of work to do.”

Cassian doesn’t say anything. But he nods a little, and presses another kiss to her head, and she thinks this is also a kind of apology.

She rests her head on his chest, and she closes her eyes.

 

* * *

 

**_Present, 10 ABY_ **

Jyn spends the first week out of the hospital in a daze.

She goes to her apartment, declining Amaia’s offers of staying with her, of making sure she’s comfortable, that she isn’t in pain, that she sleeps okay.

Amaia is just looking out for her, Jyn knows, but all Jyn really wants is to be left alone with this revelation.

 _You’re pregnant_.

She repeats it to herself, again and again, until the words blur together, until they lose their meaning, and she has to start over. She’s in shock, she knows.

She sits on her bed in her little apartment, and looks at the snow falling outside the window.

In retrospect, of course this was a possibility. She’d had a birth control implant in her arm for most of her life; it was essentially mandatory with the Partisans, and she’d been glad to have it, and kept with it, over her years in the Alliance. But her last one had expired two years ago, shortly after she’d arrived on Onderon, and with the chaos of pulling the orphanage together, and the fact that she had not seen Cassian in two years by then, it just didn’t seem like something she needed to immediately correct. And then she’d forgotten about it, completely.

And now here she is.

 _Pull yourself together_ , she thinks. _This is not the end of the world_.

She doesn’t know what to feel.

She watches the snow fall.

 

* * *

 

A week after her hospital visit, she goes to the meeting she’d previously scheduled with Travia Chan.

Travia is there, sitting behind her steel desk, going over reports of some kind. She looks up when Jyn enters, and smiles in greeting, as Jyn tugs off her parka, and her gloves.

“Jyn, how are you?” Travia calls, already pouring two cups of tea. “I heard you were involved in an incident regarding a leftover Imperial bomb last week.”

Jyn pauses, but remembers that Travia is the mayor of Fulcra, and this is entirely expected. “I’m fine.”

“I imagine it… brought back some difficult memories.”

Jyn sits at her regular chair by the fire, as Travia moves to her side, stopping her repulsor-chair in the space across from her, passing Jyn a cup of tea.

“It did,” Jyn says, slowly. “But it’s. You know. Fine.”

Her sentences are choppy, and short, and her voice is a little shaky. Travia notices, and looks her over carefully.

“Is it shell shock, Jyn?”

Shell shock, the term given to veterans dealing with lingering trauma from their years spent in war zones. Jyn is familiar with the term, understands the symptoms and difficulties it spawns, and shakes her head.

“It was surprising, and… shocking, but I’m really fine,” she insists.

“You look tired,” Travia says, plainly.

Jyn has not gotten much sleep as of late, and she isn’t surprised that the sleeplessness has been translated onto her face. “Rough night. But it’s fine. Nothing’s wrong.”

Travia doesn’t look convinced, but seems to understand that she isn’t going to get any more out of Jyn at the present moment. She nods, and begins to go over the documents and data her office has compiled for Jyn and Amaia.

Jyn takes studious notes, as always, but she doesn’t ask as many questions as she normally does, and Travia, though Jyn is sure her questions get tiresome, notices, and finally decides enough is enough.

“Jyn, if you need to see a counselor, that’s perfectly fine,” Travia says, and Jyn startles at her slightly raised voice, and at having the Icewoman’s sharp brown eyes narrowed at her. “Plenty of other former soldiers have gotten help, and I would be more than happy to find someone for you to talk to--”

“I’m fine, Travia--”

“I know we don’t know each other very well, but you are behaving very unlike yourself, and frankly, I’m a little concerned--”

“I’m pregnant,” Jyn says, blurting out the words, and Travia stops speaking.

The two women look at each other, the fire dancing in the fireplace behind them.

“Ah,” Travia says, and blinks.

Jyn thinks she has actually managed to surprise Travia Chan, and she knows this is no small feat.

“I found out, at the hospital, after the bombing,” Jyn clarifies. “Last week. So I’m. Just, uh. Dealing with that.”

“I see,” Travia says.

Now that Jyn’s words have sunk in, Travia looks a little uncomfortable; Jyn can relate. She’d never wanted to discuss this kind of thing with Travia Chan, of all people.

“Is…” Travia starts, and stops. “Is Cassian the father?”

“Yes,” Jyn says, quickly, and Travia nods, looking slightly more comfortable.

“I see,” she says, again.

Another silence falls, and Jyn looks at the floor, thinking she wouldn’t mind the floor swallowing her up right about now.

She isn’t sure why she’s so uncomfortable, here, with Travia. She definitely hasn’t done anything _wrong_ ; or, at the least, this situation is not entirely her fault.

But Travia’s next words explain her discomfort, her apprehension.

“Are you going to tell him?”

Jyn looks back up at her.

Travia’s face is just as composed as always, but there is a new softness in her eyes, one Jyn has not seen from her before.

“I…” Jyn sighs. “I don’t know.”

She waits, expecting Travia to admonish her, to tell her that of course Cassian must know, right away, that this is not even a question. But Travia surprises her, by reaching forward and squeezing Jyn’s arm, gently.

“It’s your choice,” Travia says, and her voice is kind.

Jyn exhales, a little shakily.

“I don’t know… exactly what went wrong, with you two, why you separated,” Travia says, looking thoughtful, and leaning back in her repulsor-chair, taking her hand off Jyn’s arm. “But I can guess, because I understand that Cassian is the same as he has always been.” She turns back to Jyn. “I told you once that I used to think Cassian Andor was a bit of a walking tragedy. Forever putting the war before everything else, because he doesn’t know any better. Because that’s just who he is. A soldier. Never allowing himself to be happy. Never allowing himself to come home, to Fest.”

“He left me,” Jyn says, and her voice shakes a little, and her hands tighten into fists on her lap.

Travia nods, grim. “Mm. I wondered. I… I had hoped I was wrong, that it was… A more amicable separation, but I am not surprised.”

“I wasn’t either, really.”

Travia nods, again. “Because he put the war first.”

“Because he put the war first,” Jyn agrees.

“Maybe he really is a kind of walking tragedy, then,” Travia says, shrugging. “Desperate to sacrifice himself again, and again, if it means saving someone else. But he can’t save everyone.” She looks at Jyn. “And you can’t save him, Jyn.”

 _And you can’t save him, Jyn_.

“I know,” Jyn whispers, and she thinks this is the core of her difficulties with Cassian’s choice.

That he’s going to sacrifice himself; his happiness, his peace, and his life, and she cannot save him.

She cannot change his mind. She cannot convince him to stay.

He’ll throw himself into the war, again and again, and watching him do it would slowly consume her, too, would yank her back into a world of loss, and terror, and fear, and death, and she would lose herself in it, like he has long lost himself.

But there’s a chance for her.

She can let Cassian go, and save herself.

_“If I asked for a divorce, would you let me go? Would you feel like you could go home?”_

She doesn’t know where home is.

But, maybe, if she lets Cassian go; she can find it.

She can find herself again, too.

She looks up at Travia, and has to blink, as her eyes are watery and blurring the old woman’s face.

“Please don’t tell him,” she whispers.

She isn’t sure how Cassian would respond, what he would do. She expects he’d come running to Fest, to see her and verify the truth in person, but beyond that, the future is uncertain.

All she knows, for certain, is that he would not leave the war. He’d stay in it, working for the New Republic.

And he’d still die for it, sooner rather than later, and leave his child without a father, anyway.

And that child would grow up knowing how their father chose the war over it.

She isn’t sure if this is worse than the alternative, than their child growing up without ever knowing Cassian.

She thinks of Cassian’s father, of how Cassian understands his father, why he chose the cause over his family, but how Cassian has never been convinced that it was the right thing to do, how bitter he is towards his father now.

She thinks of her own parents, and the persistent ache she feels when she thinks about them, how some of the time the good memories feel more like a curse than anything else.

She’ll have to think about this more, she knows.

“I wouldn’t,” Travia says, quickly, and firmly, and Jyn startles a little. “This is between the two of you. I’m happy to not get involved with that.”

Jyn laughs a little, and Travia smiles.

“If you need anything,” Travia says, “Anything at all; please do not hesitate to come to me. I’m here to help you, Jyn.”

It is a kind, generous offer, and Jyn knows that Travia means it, that she’ll do everything in her power to help Jyn, to make her feel welcomed, and stable, that she can handle all of this.

It is just another reminder of the goodness of Festians, Jyn thinks.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Jyn admits. “I mean; I’m keeping it, I know that.”

The doctor had asked her, and Jyn had been a quick and emphatic yes before she’d even really processed the question.

“But I don’t know what I’m going to do when I get back to Onderon,” she finishes.

Travia looks at her.

“You’re definitely going back to Onderon?”

Jyn frowns, and stares back at her. “Of course.”

“Hm,” Travia says, folding her hands together in her lap.

“You… You don’t think I’m going to?”

“I think you’ve enjoyed your time here,” Travia says. “Amaia speaks very highly of you, as does, really, everyone who’s spoken of you to me. You are well-liked here, Jyn, and every time I’ve seen you in the past month, you’ve been smiling. And you’ve been working on your Festian, and throwing yourself into reading about our histories, and, well… I almost thought you were planning to stay. Permanently.”

Jyn blinks.

“I…” She pauses, and gathers her thoughts together. “I’ve liked my time on Fest, of course, but I… This isn’t my _home_.”

And Travia smiles at her.

“Not yet, maybe,” she says. “But, perhaps… It could be.”

 

* * *

 

Jyn thinks about it.

She thinks about it a lot.

She continues putting together the orphanage with Amaia, who is unabashedly enthusiastic about Jyn having a baby, who tells her she is there for her every step of the way, whose friends all make similar promises, who are quick to offer hand-me-downs, quick to offer support.

She still doesn’t know what to make of having so many people being so kind to her.

The months pass, and her stomach seems to swell up all at once, and though she knows this isn’t what happens, she thinks it’s something that appears to happen suddenly because she’s only just accepted it. She still wears parkas and thick sweaters, but her profile changes, and suddenly it seems like everyone she meets knows she’s pregnant, and she’s treated to further kindness, to people going out of their way to hold doors for her, to offer to walk with her across the icy streets.

The baker at the bakery she frequents begins to tuck extra cookies in the bundle of bread she buys bi-weekly, and the shopkeeper who she’d witnessed gifting a pair of earmuffs on a little girl tells her to come straight in when her sweaters don’t fit her anymore, and she’ll get more, free of charge. The waiters at her favorite restaurant now always seat her away from the door, further into the warmth of the building, and the renovators in the building she and Amaia have chosen for the orphanage always ask her how she’s doing, if she needs anything.

Amaia has all but moved into Jyn’s apartment at this point, and so Jyn invites her to come to her doctor’s appointment with her, where the doctor tells Jyn that she is having a boy.

She takes the news with little surprise.

She can’t explain it, but she thinks she’d expected this; a boy.

Amaia is gleeful, is the properly enthusiastic one, and tells Jyn about all the boys she teaches at her school, how wonderful they are, how they make her laugh, how she is just so excited for Jyn, and her son.

It is these words, _your son_ , that really snaps Jyn out of her daze.

It is all so much, and she is so grateful.

She begins to understand why Travia thought she could find a home here.

She’s starting to think it might be a home after all.

 

* * *

 

In the dream, it’s snowing.

In the dream, Jyn is sitting at a table, and Lyra sits across from her. Like she has of late, Lyra does not speak, but rather, looks at Jyn, expression tense and thoughtful, the look on her face she’d had just before leaving Jyn on Lah’mu, to run after Galen.

In the dream, Jyn turns her head, and looks towards the window, where snow is falling on the other side of the glass. Standing in front of the window is Cassian, but his back is to Jyn and Lyra.

In the dream, she calls his name, but he doesn’t turn. He continues staring out the window.

In the dream, Lyra touches Jyn’s hand. Jyn looks at her, and her mother smiles a little, and then stands, and walks through the suddenly open front door, disappearing into the gray snowstorm. Jyn calls her name, _Mama_ , but Lyra doesn’t come back.

In the dream, Cassian goes next. He steps away from the window, and walks to the door, and this time, Jyn follows him. She watches as he walks outside, and she calls for him as he disappears into the gray light.

In the dream, the snow keeps falling, and Jyn stares into the storm, and looks for Cassian.

In the dream, Jyn shivers with the cold, and turns back to the empty house that she quickly realizes is not actually empty.

In the dream, there is a woman sitting at the table. The woman has long, curly black hair, and warm brown skin, and big brown eyes. She wears a gray dress, and has a long white scarf wrapped around her neck, and a potter’s wheel at her feet.

In the dream, she holds her hands out to Jyn, and they’re covered in gray clay.

In the dream, she seems to mouth Jyn’s name, but doesn’t voice it.

In the dream, Jyn walks back into the house, and sits across from the woman, who hands her a bit of gray clay.

In the dream, the woman runs the gray clay through her own hands, until it is no longer gray, but bright, and a wide range of brilliant colors, flickering and changing.

In the dream, Jyn hears a child laugh, somewhere in the house.

In the dream, the woman smiles at the noise, and it is a smile Jyn has seen before, below brown eyes she knows well.

In the dream, Serafima spins colors from the gray, and Jyn watches, turning the gray clay over in her own hands.

In the dream, Jyn mirrors her.

Jyn mirrors her.

 

* * *

 

Jyn takes a transport to the edge of town.

She walks down long, snow-covered roads, as the buildings grow smaller, less new and expensive, becoming older, and more run-down. She walks a little slowly, carefully stepping on the ice buried under the snow, watching her boots, putting one foot in front of the other.

She walks past a little black house, but she only spares it the briefest of glances.

She walks across a windy, open plain, until she stops in front of three graves.

She stands there, the wind blowing snow around her, and reads the names.

 _Gabriel Andor. Serafima Andor. Nerezza Andor_.

“Um… Hi,” she says.

There is no response, no noise, save for the frosty wind.

She wishes she still wore a kyber crystal necklace; she thinks it’d be helpful, or at least comforting, now.

She licks her lips, and looks past the graves, at the empty tundra beyond.

“I’m, uh…” She sighs. “I’m here, alone. He’s… He’s not here. He’s still alive, or, at least; no one’s told me he’s dead, and someone would. I have that promise. But I think you guys probably know he isn’t dead, wherever you are, because he hasn’t turned up there, too.”

Jyn knows she believes in some kind of afterlife.

She doesn’t know the parameters of it, but she knows that Cassian would find his family in it, if he was dead.

“I guess you’re going to be grandparents,” she says, and then frowns. “Or, you know; you would, if you were… alive. And Nerezza, you’d be an aunt. I feel like… I feel like you’d really like that.”

She never met any of them, but she knows that much.

She knows they loved Cassian, and he loved them.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Jyn says. “I don’t… I never expected to be here, for this, but now, I… It feels… Right, I guess. Or close to it. I feel like… I feel like we’re going to be happy here.”

It is the first time she has said _we_ , and it makes her smile.

“I guess I’m not actually alone,” she whispers.

She looks at Serafima’s grave.

“It’s a boy,” she says. “Or, that’s what they tell me. I’ve been thinking about you, because Cassian loved you so much, and he misses you terribly, and he… He’s always felt so badly that he never really got to know you. That he never tried hard to. It really upsets him, and I’m… I don’t think you intentionally did that, I don’t think you even knew it’d cut him up, later in life, but I’m not… I’m going to be honest with… With my son.”

She swallows, eyes locked on the name, on the gray stone.

“I think I’ve been dreaming about you,” she says, quietly. “I’ve never seen a picture of you--Cassian doesn’t have any--but I think it’s you. You have his eyes, and his smile, and that’s how he’s described you to me. The dream’s always the same; my mother leaves, and Cassian does, too, and just when I think I’m all alone, you turn up. You never say anything, but you… You’re there. And we hear a child laugh, and you smile, and I start to think we’ll be okay. And I think I know why you’re always there.”

She sighs.

“Because you’re the only parent who didn’t choose to leave.”

Because Gabriel Andor chose to leave his son, and chose to fight for his cause, and chose to go to Carida, where he was killed by the Old Republic as his son watched on the holonet from home.

Because Lyra Erso chose to leave her daughter, chose to give her daughter her kyber crystal necklace and a parting bit of advice to _trust the force_ , and chose to run back to defend her husband, where she was murdered before her daughter’s eyes.

Because Galen Erso chose to leave his daughter, chose to work for the Empire, and chose to work on a superweapon on Eadu, where he was killed by Alliance bombs after his daughter called for him.

But Serafima Andor never left.

Cassian has told Jyn of the day she died, how they’d gone to the market, how there’d been a skirmish between rebels and stormtroopers, and that Cassian had watched the blasters start firing, and had turned to his mother, in time to see her eyes widen in panic, in time to see her reach for him.

She’d been reaching for him when she’d been killed.

She’d been trying to protect him, to stay with him, to keep him close to her.

Jyn knows she can’t blame Gabriel, Lyra, or Galen for their deaths. And she’s forgiven them for leaving, mostly. She understands why they did, anyway.

But she looks at Serafima Andor’s grave, and she thinks she wants to try to be like her.

She wants to stay with her son, to choose to stay with her son, to never leave him.

It’s all she’s ever wanted anyone to do for her.

“I’m staying here,” Jyn tells the graves. “On Fest. I didn’t think I ever would, especially not without Cassian, but I… I’m happy here. And I think my son will be too, like Cassian was.”

She has another, unspoken, barely acknowledged reason for staying on Fest, too.

It’s a maybe.

Just maybe.

That Cassian will choose to come back.

That he’ll decide to go home, for himself, and he’ll go to Fest.

And maybe.

Just maybe.

He’ll find her again.

He’ll find _them_ here.

And maybe, then, _maybe_.

He’ll choose to stay.

It has to be his choice, because she can’t force him to stay, because she can’t save him.

Jyn bites her lip, blinking snowflakes off her eyelashes.

 _Maybe_.

“I can hope, for that much,” she says, softly.

_“I don’t hate you, Jyn.”_

_“I hate you.”_

_“I know. I told you that was fine, and I still stand by that.”_

But she doesn’t hate him. Not really.

She’s tried to hate him. She really tried.

But she can’t.

She breathes, and stands still.

There is no response from the graves, no words of comfort from the dead Andors.

She wasn’t really expecting any.

She thinks she’s heard from Serafima, anyway.

She turns, and walks back into the city.

 

* * *

 

She tells Travia that she’s decided to stay on Fest, and Travia smiles.

“I’m glad,” Travia says, and hands Jyn yet another box of Festian spice tea to take back to her apartment.

Amaia is more enthusiastic with her delight, hugging Jyn warmly.

“Amaia is also a boy’s name,” she claims, and Jyn laughs.

She messages Edvar on Onderon, and tells him she isn’t coming back, at least, not for a while.

He takes the news more easily than she’d expected, displaying only a moment’s panic, and then pulling himself together, assuring her that he knows what he’s doing, that he and the other staff have been doing just fine the last few months.

“I’ll visit,” she promises. “But there’s so much work to do here, and I… I like it, here.”

“I thought it was _freezing_ ,” Edvar says, looking a little confused. “You said that Feast is cold.”

“ _Fest_.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“It is,” she says. “But I… It’s grown on me. I’m going to stay.”

Edvar still looks a little bewildered, but nods, and accepts her decision.

He sends her the rest of her things over the next week.

Jyn sits by the window in her apartment, and looks out at the city, at the snow blanketing everything, at the gray, as far as the eye can see.

She thinks she’s beginning to understand it.

How there’s comfort in the gray.

Because it’s _Fest_. Because it means so much. It means the kind people she’s met, the warmth they exude, the hospitality they generate, the goodness they give away in spades. It means beautiful snowflakes, and roaring fires, and stunning mountain ranges, and frozen lakes.

It’s gray, and it’s Fest, and it’s home.

She feels like she’s home.

She runs a hand over her stomach, and she smiles.

 _We’re home_ , she thinks. _You, and me. We’re home, and I’m not leaving you._

There is no response. Not yet.

But there will be.

What there is, is a knock on the door.

She turns, and gets to her feet.

She thinks it’s probably Amaia, here with some you-must-sign-this-now document for the orphanage, or here with a homecooked meal, because she’s convinced Jyn doesn’t eat enough.

She walks to the front door, and she opens it, and freezes, her mouth dropping open.

It’s Cassian.

He looks exhausted, like he’s traveled across the galaxy and back in a day. There are snowflakes drying in his hair, and he has a bag slung over his shoulder, and his dark eyes are wide, and he looks at Jyn.

“Hello, Jyn,” he says, and his voice is a little hoarse, highlighting his apparent tiredness. “I…”

She watches as his eyes flicker away from her face for a moment, as he catches sight of the rest of her.

She watches as the shock plays out over him, almost comically.

She sighs.

She has no idea what’s brought him here, to Fest, or how he even learned that she was here in the first place, though him turning up on her doorstep makes her think Travia must’ve told him.

Though Travia apparently kept her word, and did not tell him she was pregnant.

Cassian can only stand there, and stare, and she thinks that this was inevitable. That he would’ve found out eventually, probably sooner rather than later, and part of her is relieved that she did not have to make the choice to tell him, or to not tell him.

“Yeah,” Jyn says. “Hello, Cassian. You’d better come in. We have a lot to talk about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mothers and sons.
> 
> The key figures in Cassian's life being women (of color) has never been an accident, and was always purposeful, due to STAR WARS so often neglecting these figures. (And because we just don't get enough women of color in stories tbh.)
> 
> Dreams/visions/near death experiences have always been important to this series, especially in GRAY AREAS, and then during the writing of this story I had a very nice dream about some long-dead loved ones that gave me a lot of comfort, and it made sense for Jyn (and Cassian, later in this story) to have a similar experience at this very odd time for them.
> 
> The rest of this story is Cassian's perspective, because this series has always been his story.


	10. Respice adspice prospice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Respice adspice prospice: look behind, look here, look ahead.
> 
> Or: examine the past, the present, the future.

**_Present, 10 ABY_ **

For Cassian, the thing to know about Fest is its constancy.

It is always snow-covered. Always icy, always frozen, always cold. It is always overcast, and frigid, and glacial. It is always gray, above all.

It takes a lot to change the landscape of the planet. To dig through the ice, to scrape out the snow. The original settlers of the planet had to cobble together settlements on frosty tundra, trying to create community, trying to establish warmth. Their motives for settling on Fest are unknown; and to outsiders, the motives for the people who continue to live on Fest are just as impossible to understand.

But Fest, for its cold, its ferocity, and its grayness; it’s stable.

It’s annihilating, but it clings.

People are born in the ice, and they never, ever truly leave it.

And sometimes, every once in awhile, someone who was not born in the ice will come to the planet, and seek to live on it. To live in the frost, and the cold.

To live where nothing should live.

And sometimes, Fest reaches back. It allows the intrusion. It builds a wall of snow and ice around the outsider, and keeps them close.

It’s difficult to understand how the planet does this, as it’s never a _literal_ thing.

But it’s just as difficult to understand why someone would choose to go to a place so bitterly cold.

Cassian knows why Serafima Cassiano did. How she needed a new home, and needed her new home to be the opposite of her old home. To not be warm, to not be covered in deserts, littered with dark blue seas. To be a place where no one knew her, where she could hide, where she could reestablish herself, where she could have a family.

Cassian looks at Jyn Erso, and he doesn’t know why she decided to come to Fest.

He follows her, automatically, into her apartment, and he sits in the chair she directs him to. He watches her, as she shuffles around her kitchen, setting a kettle on the stove, putting out large mugs for tea.

There aren’t many lights on in Jyn’s apartment, so he has to rely on the fire roaring in the fireplace, and the gray light coming in from the wide window that dominates the front room, to see her face.

Her eyes are passive, focused only on her work, ignoring the very still ex-husband watching her. Her lips are tense though, pursed in a tight line, and he takes this to mean she’s just as apprehensive as he is, that she’s just as bewildered by him as he is her.

He’s quite certain he has more questions, that he’s facing a bigger shock.

“Jyn,” he breathes, and she pauses in her movements.

Her eyes flicker to him, that bright green he has missed so much, before darting away again.

“Are you hungry?” she asks.

Cassian thinks his stomach has vacated his body entirely, and is already halfway to Wild Space. He shakes his head, and he watches Jyn pour them tea.

She sits down in the chair opposite him, her kitchen table creating a short distance between them.

She folds her hands neatly on the tabletop, and blinks at him.

“So,” she says.

“So,” Cassian repeats, somewhat instinctively.

She frowns. “Comments, concerns, questions?”

There is a hint of a knowing smirk in her face, and he remembers being on Jedha with her, having known her for only a handful of hours, how she’d been perplexed and irritated by him, but still managed to tease him.

_“Hope?”_

_“Yes. It’s what rebellions are built on.”_

She’d been a little startled by the ferocity of his response, by the absolute seriousness of his voice, but she’d taken his words to heart, and employed them later.

She isn’t going to make this easy for him, and he knows he can’t really blame her.

“You are, um…”

“Pregnant,” she supplies, choosing to take pity on him, likely surmising that Cassian is largely incapable of articulating words more than one syllable long.

“Yeah,” he says, but there is no rush of realization, no acceptance. He’s still just as stunned as he was when he saw her in the doorway.

Jyn blinks at him, waiting.

“Is, um…” He swallows. “Is it--”

“It’s yours, Cassian,” Jyn says, and he’s more than a little grateful, for her sake and his, that she did not make him actually ask.

He nods, and stares into his tea.

“Were you going to tell me?” He asks her now.

It is Jyn’s turn to still.

He looks up at her, and her face is stricken, but unashamed.

“I don’t know,” she says.

It is an honest answer, if maybe not the one he would’ve liked to hear. He’s glad for her honesty.

“I think so,” Jyn adds. “I… You would’ve found out eventually, probably sooner rather than later, and… I should be the one to tell you, you shouldn’t have to find out from someone else--”

“Jyn,” he says, quietly. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“Because I don’t owe you anything?”

His words, from five months ago.

They aren’t quite being thrown back in his face now, as Jyn’s voice is still quite calm, but there is a harsh tenseness under them.

“Why are you here?” she asks.

“For you,” Cassian says, and this is the truth.

But Jyn’s eyes narrow, and she looks skeptical.

“Who told you I was here?”

Cassian blinks, and remembers Edvar’s insistence that Jyn not know he was the one to tell Cassian where she’d gone.

“A mutual friend.”

“Travia?”

“No,” Cassian says, because he doesn’t want to lie. “But she did give me your address.”

Jyn sighs. “Edvar. Kriff. He would.”

“He didn’t know why you’d come here,” Cassian says, slowly. “He seemed to think you’d made up Fest entirely. He said… He told me you’d found a reason to stay, though he didn’t know what it was. I don’t know why you’ve moved here, either.”

“I’m surprised, too,” Jyn says. “That I’m here. I didn’t see this coming.”

“ _Why_ are you here?” Cassian asks, and some emotion begins to seep into his voice, beyond his shock. “I never got the impression you _liked_ Fest that much, at least never enough to want to stay here, especially… Especially not without me.”

He wasn’t here when she decided to stay on Fest.

Jyn bites her lip, and stares down at her clasped hands.

“A few months ago, I got a message from Travia,” she says. “She told me that her office was looking to establish a new orphanage in Fulcra, for the children who’d been orphaned and displaced during the war. She asked for my help in getting them started. It didn’t seem like much of a favor, and it wasn’t going to really be different from what I’d done on Onderon, so I said yes, and I came out here.”

Cassian nods, following easily enough so far.

“I wasn’t planning to stay, permanently,” Jyn continues. “I’ve been working with a woman called Amaia; she’d been the one pushing for the orphanage for years, she’s a schoolteacher here in Fulcra, and so I always expected she’d take it on, full-time, when I left. She’s been very kind to me, we’ve gotten along well, and she’s introduced me to all her friends. And I’ve gotten to know all my neighbors, and the baker knows my name, and the woman who runs the wool shop always asks me how I’m doing, and Travia has tea ready for me whenever I go to see her, and the renovators on the site have been so kind to me, and I…”

She trails off, and blinks at Cassian, who is lost.

“And…” He prompts.

“And somewhere along the way, I realized that I…” Jyn shrugs. “That I like it here. I like the people. My friends, and the people I see everyday. It’s… It’s cold, but there’s… There’s such _community_ here. Such _life_. And you always said that, you always spoke so warmly of Fest, and the people, and I just… I never got it. But I do now.”

“You’re happy here,” Cassian says, slowly, and if he hadn’t had the shock of his life not five minutes ago, he thinks he’d find this statement, the idea that Jyn is happy on Fest, to be a strong contender.

She smiles, widely, and he hasn’t seen her smile like this in years.

“I _am_ ,” she says. “It’s… I think it’s home.”

And he doesn’t know what to say to this.

He can only stare at her.

She looks back at him, and her eyes are calm, the smile slipping off her face.

“Why are you here, Cassian?” She asks, for the second time.

“For you,” Cassian says, again.

“Why?”

She sounds skeptical, dismissive, like she thinks this is a lie. Cassian knows he deserves this, her judgment, but it still stings.

“I…” He sighs. “I should never have left. Everything you said about me, four years ago, and then again five months ago; you were right. About the war, and the cause, and what I was fighting for. I… I’ve always fought because I thought it was something I _had_ to do, for the galaxy, and my family, and… So much of what I set out to fight for has been realized. We have the New Republic, with good people running it. The Empire is gone. And the people I love are safe, and I… I don’t need to fight anymore.”

Jyn stares at him as he speaks, and he pauses to gauge her reaction.

Her eyes are wider than he thinks he’s ever seen them, and she looks almost as shocked as he had, standing in the doorway.

He thinks it’d almost be funny, in any other situation.

“What the hell happened to you?” She asks now.

Cassian smiles a little.

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

“I went to Sernpidal,” Cassian says. “With Shara, Kes, and Poe. And while I was there, Shara’s sister, Maria, tracked down the information for a cousin of my mother, called Yakovi Cassiano.”

“Is he part of the famous Cassianos that Shara thought you might be related to?”

Cassian’s smile widens.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “I got to speak to Yakovi. He told me that my mother’s parents died when she was young, and that his father, her uncle, refused to take her in. He also managed to hide her inheritance from her, and so she… She was thirteen, and she thought she was on her own, which is why she became a criminal. She was just trying to survive.”

Jyn’s lips twist.

“I can relate,” she says, quietly, and Cassian realizes that she really can.

She was sixteen when she was abandoned by her family, left behind, to fend for herself in an unforgiving, and unkind galaxy.

“When she was seventeen, she stole the ship of a well-known gangster, and she had to flee the planet,” Cassian continues. “And I think… I think she decided to go somewhere that wouldn’t remind her of Sernpidal. A planet that was not warm, that was not welcoming. Not colorful, and without deserts, and oceans. I think that’s why she came here, to Fest.”

“Because it wasn’t home?”

“It wasn’t,” Cassian says. “But I… I think all she really wanted was to have a family again. And she met my father, and I think she thought she could have a family with him. And she did. But he left her, and I… I’ve been remembering so many things she’d say to me, after he left. How sorry she was, how I was still loved, how she hoped I could forgive her for our family separating like that. I never understood why she was apologizing, but I think now… I think she was scared I’d end up like her. Convinced I didn’t have a family. Terrified that I would be alone, forever.”

“That’s also pretty relatable,” Jyn murmurs.

Cassian looks at her, at her soft green eyes, at the hand she has resting on the top of her stomach, and feels his heart break.

“I’m so sorry,” he says.

“I thought I was going to be alone,” Jyn says. “I mean; not literally, obviously. I was on Onderon, which I spent a few years on when I was younger, and I had Edvar, as ridiculous as he can be, and I had the kids to care for. But I… I thought that I had missed out on _family_. That maybe I just wasn’t meant to have it for long. I had my parents, and I lost them; I had Saw, and the Partisans, even, and I lost all of them. And I had you, and I lost you.”

He doesn’t know what to say to this, and so he waits.

“I was with Amaia, about a month and a half ago,” she says. “And a bomb went off in the street in front of us. An old Imperial bomb, leftover from the war. My back was burned, a little, and so I went to the hospital, and while I was there, the doctor told me I was going to have a baby. I… I was surprised, to say the least.”

Cassian smiles a little, but doesn’t interrupt.

“And for a while, I didn’t know what I was going to do,” she continues. “Where I was going to go, how I was… I was going to keep it, but I… I still hadn’t felt like I’d found _home_. And it was Travia who actually said she thought I was going to stay here. And I started to think about it, and I realized she was right. That I _wanted_ to stay here, because it… It didn’t feel like home, not at first, but Fest… It’s started to feel like home, and it is now. I think I’m going to be happy here. And I think he will be, too, like me, and like you.”

Cassian sits there, taking in her words, letting them fully register.

“He,” Cassian repeats.

She shrugs. “That’s what they tell me.”

 _He_. A boy. He’s going to have a son.

A boy whose parents are separated. A boy whose father chose the cause over his family, who left his wife, who ran single-mindedly towards a war. A boy whose mother has only ever known loss, and loneliness, and lives alone on Fest.

He pictures Jyn apologizing to their son for Cassian’s abandonment, and feels nausea swell up in him.

The past, Cassian thinks, is a mirror that shows the future.

“Kriff,” he whispers.

“I know you talked about a daughter,” Jyn says, softly.

“That’s not it,” he says, quickly, because he doesn’t want her to think that’s what he’s hung up on. Of course it isn’t that. “It’s just… I told you I’d be better than my father, when I turned out to be exactly like him.”

And he laughs a little, but he knows it isn’t a happy laugh, that it sounds bitter more than anything else.

“I’m not sure you could ever help that, Cassian,” Jyn murmurs, and she sounds sad. “That’s… Your devotion to the war, your loyalty to the cause… That’s just you, who you are.”

“But I want to be better than that, better than him,” Cassian says, and his voice is firm.

He’s made a decision.

He made it a few days ago, on Sernpidal, but he’s saying it now.

“I’m leaving the New Republic Military,” he tells Jyn, and he sees her mouth part with surprise, but he keeps going. “I’ll send Leia my resignation today. I’ll move back here, to Fest. I want to stay with you, and our son.”

Jyn stares at him, and her stunned expression swiftly changes to one of anger, of disbelief.

“I don’t believe you,” she says, and he knows he deserves that, knows she’s lost her faith in him, but he still feels the words like she’s physically hit him. “Sure, you might come back here for a bit, but what happens when Leia calls? What happens when you read about some awful battle in the Outer Rim? What happens when you decide the New Republic still needs you, five years down the line? You’re going to leave us, _again_ , Cassian. And I’ve had my parents leave me, and I know how awful that is, and I don’t want my son to have to live with that, too.”

“I was coming back,” Cassian says. “I was coming back to you. To _you_ , Jyn. I didn’t know about… about him. I decided to look for you, to go back to you.”

“You’ve come back for me before, yet we still ended up here,” Jyn snaps.

“I always come back to you,” Cassian says, and this, historically speaking, is true.

It’s taken him longer than ever before, but he has come back to her.

Jyn narrows her eyes.

“But you weren’t going to,” she says, voice sharp. “We divorced, Cassian, so that we’d never see each other again. You wanted me to let you go, to understand that you were never coming back. That was the _point_.” She shakes her head. “I’m not going to apologize for being doubtful.”

“You don’t have to--”

“You can’t just show up back here and think we’re going to be fine, just like that,” Jyn continues. “You’ve been gone for almost four and a half _years_ , Cassian.”

“I think I was gone before that,” Cassian admits, and Jyn’s mouth opens, but a knock at the door derails her.

She gets to her feet, ignoring how Cassian stands with her, stepping past him out of the kitchen. He follows her, automatically, into the sitting room, to see her open the front door.

It’s a woman at the door, with thick, waist-length dark hair and soft brown skin, a long scar running the length of her face. She looks to be a little younger than Jyn, with big brown eyes, and wearing a gray sweater that falls to her knees.

“I brought you dinner,” the woman says without preamble, gesturing to the heavy bag she has hanging off her shoulder. “I don’t care what you say, I don’t think you eat enough--”

The woman breaks off, having looked up and spotted Cassian, hovering several feet behind Jyn.

“Uh,” the woman says.

Jyn sighs. “Amaia, this is Cassian Andor. Cassian, this is Amaia Chias.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Amaia breathes, and she blinks at Cassian, and he stares back, unsure as to what Jyn has told her of him.

“Hello,” Cassian says.

“I have brought enough food for you, too,” Amaia says.

“Cassian isn’t staying,” Jyn says, quickly, and both Cassian and Amaia stare at her.

Amaia, with surprise.

Cassian, with despondency.

“Jyn,” he says, quietly.

She turns around, and looks at him.

“We’re not done talking,” she says. “But we’re done talking for today, okay? I’m tired, and I can’t do this right now. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

He supposes this is fair; he’s the one who turned up unannounced.

He nods, and picks up his bag, and goes to stand at the door next to Jyn, and a bewildered-looking Amaia.

“Tomorrow,” he says, looking at Jyn..

She nods. “Tomorrow.”

Cassian looks at her for a moment more, and then turns, giving Amaia a parting nod, and walks back down the hall the way he came.

 

* * *

 

His first order of business is to get a proper coat.

He hates feeling _cold_ on Fest, because it makes him feel like an outsider, like someone who is not from the planet, and he knows that to be a lie. Being from Fest has always been a key part of his identity, including some of his fake ones.

Being Festian; it’s just as constant to him as the war is.

Once he’s gotten a heavy, snow-proof coat, he goes to City Hall to see Travia Chan.

It’s late, but he knows her, and the Travia he knows works late everyday.

She isn’t expecting him either, but he gives his name to her secretary, and is quickly let in.

Travia looks a little amused, sitting in her repulsor-chair behind her desk, arms crossed over her chest.

“Evening, Cassian,” she says, calmly, like she’d actually been expecting him.

She’s taken to calling him by his first name in recent years, since the Atrivis Sector Force was dismantled and she entered the local government on Fest, but it still throws Cassian every time to hear her say his first name with such open warmth, rather than to hear her say _Andor_ with a tone that ranged from exasperation to welcome. He pulls himself together.

“Hello, Travia,” he returns, pulling off his coat, and sitting in the chair in front of her desk.

“How are you? Would you like some tea?”

He shoots her a dirty look. “I’ve just seen Jyn.”

“Ah. Liquor, then?”

He can’t help but laugh, shaking his head. “No, no. I’m… I’m fine.”

Travia smirks. “It’s funny how people insist they’re fine when they’re anything but, like the rest of us are too stupid to know the difference.”

Cassian sighs, slouching back in his chair. “What do you want me to say?”

“Don’t you take that tone with me,” Travia says, still smirking. “I have known you for over thirty years, Cassian Andor. I’ve seen every emotion cross your face, and I know what you look like when you’re trying to hide it all. And I know there’s a reason you’ve turned up in my office after seeing your pregnant ex-wife.”

He sighs again, but he knows she’s right about him.

“When did you know?” he asks.

“Shortly after Jyn did,” Travia says, shrugging. “About two months ago. She was acting squirrely; well, more so than usual, I suppose. She blurted it out to me.” Travia looks up at Cassian then, and her teardrop-shaped brown eyes are suddenly very serious. “I think the poor girl just needed someone to talk to, and I happened to be there.”

Cassian thinks this is probably a fair assumption; Jyn and Travia have never been close, have always treated each other with respect and professionalism, but nothing more.

“What did you say to her?” He wonders.

“That I would help her if she needed me to,” Travia says, and though Cassian thinks he shouldn’t be surprised by this, he is. “And that I wouldn’t tell you, but let her tell you; or let her not tell you.”

“You really wouldn’t have told me?”

“No,” Travia says, simple as that, and Cassian believes her.

He swallows, and looks down at his hands, at the way they’re gripping the armrests of the chair, turning his knuckles white.

“She told me a bit, about why you separated,” Travia says suddenly, and Cassian startles a little, his head snapping up to look at her. “I never _really_ wanted to know, but as I said, I think she just needed someone to talk to, who also knows you. And she told me that you left her, that you put the war first. And I remarked that I wasn’t surprised to hear that. A little sad, maybe; but not surprised. I’ve never known you to do anything otherwise.”

“Yes,” Cassian says, because she’s right, this has always been him.

“Eager to throw yourself on a grenade for the cause,” Travia says, thoughtfully. “Always ready to die at a word, just in case it can save someone else. Jyn knew all this, of course. But I reminded her of something else, too, I think. I reminded her that like you can’t save everyone, she can’t save you.”

Cassian stills, and looks at Travia.

She looks just as composed as ever, and her eyes are cool, but there is a hint of sadness in the lines of her face, one he thinks he’s never seen before.

Never seen, or simply never noticed.

“When the war ended, I didn’t know what I was going to do,” Travia continues, her mouth quirking in a smile at the edges. “Like you, it’d been everything to me for so long, the only thing I was focused on. But unlike you, I wasn’t a child when the war began; I had a life before the war, helping my father run his trading post in Edur.”

Cassian has never known this about Travia. He stares, as she continues to speak.

“When I took up the cause, I left my father’s business,” Travia says. “And he died during the war; natural causes, not due to the war itself. And so when the Empire was taken down, and the Atrivis Sector Force dismantled, I realized that I had nothing left. Nowhere to go, nothing to do. I floundered for a while, lost… And then you know what happened?”

He shakes his head.

Travia grins, widely, and he thinks he’s never seen this happiness in her face before.

“Fest,” she says. “Fest happened. The people. Everywhere I went, people would thank me for my service, for the battles the Rebellion fought in the streets, for the missions the Atrivis Sector Force ran. People would send me gifts, and food, would go out of their way to talk to me, to share their stories, to hear mine. It was overwhelming. And I realized that what I wanted to do, more than anything, was to give back to Fest, again. So I ran for Mayor of Fulcra. I still lead, still coordinate, still direct. It’s much like what I spent so many years doing in the Fest Rebellion, but… Less bloody. More rewarding.”

Cassian considers this.

He understands her logic, understands how she ended up here, and believes the joy he sees in her face.

But he has a question.

“Do you ever feel guilty? For the things you did in the war?”

He knows about a lot of the missions Travia sanctioned, in the Fest Rebellion and the Atrivis Sector Force. And she knows a bit about the work he did in the Coruscant Rebellion, and in the Alliance.

They’re both aware of several of the atrocities the other has authorized, or committed.

He’s pretty sure she’s aware of the intense guilt he feels, the self-loathing, the horror.

Travia thinks his question over for a minute.

“Yes,” she says, slowly. “Of course I do. Of course.”

“How do you… How do you get past it?”

“The things I did, in the war,” Travia says, “were _for_ the war. I would never… I don’t fight anymore. I’m a… Not a different person, but I don’t… I get to be better, now. Kinder, more forgiving. And that includes forgiving myself.”

He can see this in her face.

Travia Chan was the Icewoman. The fearless leader, the one who demanded greatness, and flawlessness, and was ruthless, and frightening.

This is still Travia Chan, but there is a new softness to her. A kind of vulnerability she’s never gotten to explore before.

“I was very cruel, in the war,” Travia continues. “But I had to be. For the cause, for the soldiers who followed me. But the war is over, and now I… I like to think that the work I do now helps justify the things I did to get me here.”

“Justify,” Cassian repeats.

His old mantra comes back to him.

_Everything we do, we do for the Rebellion. It’s justified._

_Everything I do, I do for the Rebellion._

_I’m justified_.

Words he’d slowly lost belief in, over the years.

Travia smiles.

“I get to do a lot of good work now, Cassian,” she says. “You should try it. If you… I don’t know what your plans are, now, with Jyn and the baby, but I’ve always told you: there is a place for you here. I’ve always told you that, and it’s as true now as it was when I was talking about the Fest Rebellion. Just say the word, and you can work with me, here, for Fulcra.”

It is a kind, generous offer, and one Travia has made to him again and again, and it still takes Cassian’s breath away.

Travia seems to gather the emotion welling up in Cassian, because she shrugs, and looks away.

“Just something to think about,” she says, nonchalantly.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, exactly,” Cassian admits. “I am moving back here, because Jyn wants to be here, and I want to be where she is. But beyond that… I don’t know.”

“Yeah, well, you have time.”

And for the first time in his life, Cassian thinks this is true.

He thinks he does have time.

 

* * *

 

Cassian returns to Jyn’s apartment the next morning.

She looks exhausted when she opens the door, dark bags under her eyes and her hair tied back more messily than normal. She’s wearing a thick blue sweater, and she blinks at him for several moments without speaking.

“Hi, Jyn,” he says, slowly.

She startles a little.

“Yeah, hi,” she says, stepping back to let him in.

The light coming into the apartment from the windows is brighter than it was the night before, and Cassian has his wits about him, so he takes a moment to look around. The apartment is small, and clean, and he sees boxes of what appears to be Jyn’s things from Onderon.

She hasn’t seem to have unpacked everything yet, and he wonders why this is.

“Do you want caf, or anything?” She calls to him from the kitchen.

“Uh, no, I’m fine,” he says, and immediately remembers what Travia had said the night before, about people claiming to be fine when they aren’t.

If Jyn can recognize the tension under his voice, she doesn’t comment.

She sits on the sofa, folding her hands on her stomach, and for a moment, he can only stare again.

Her stomach is big, but she’s so small, has always been so small, and she looks so tired now, and he doesn’t know how to help her, doesn’t know how to convince her that he’s here for her, now, when he hasn’t been for so long.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Jyn nods, and the exhaustion in her face seems to amplify, aging her. “I know you are, Cassian.”

“I want to earn your forgiveness,” he continues, and he sits on the couch next to her, but maintains his distance, keeping a foot of space in between them. “Tell me… Tell me _how_. Please.”

“I don’t _know_ ,” she says, and emotion slips into her voice, a bit of dazed melancholy he’s intimately familiar with. “I… This is a lot, Cassian. You, being here. I didn’t… I didn’t anticipate this.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You can stop saying that.”

“I’m not sure I can,” he admits, and Jyn sighs.

“Yeah, that sounds like you,” she agrees.

He nods, because she’s right.

He’s constantly searching for forgiveness, constantly feeling like he’s done something that demands it, that he’s always committing terrible acts that he needs to answer for.

“Okay,” he says now. “Let me tell you what I think, and you can tell me if you think I’m wrong, or not. Yeah?”

She nods.

“I think what you really need is to _see_ that I’m sticking around,” he says. “That I’m really here, and that I’m going to stay. Because I _am_ , Jyn. Here, look.”

He reaches into his jacket pocket, and he pulls out a datapad, and hands it to Jyn.

She takes it, nonplussed, and turns it on, coming face to face with the resignation letter he’d sent to Leia, the night before.

Her eyes widen, as she reads.

“I probably should have gone to see her in person,” Cassian continues, “But she’s gone all the way to Tatooine, for something, and I… I didn’t want to leave you. Not again. I imagine she’ll turn up here, herself, in a few weeks, give or take a week. I know I’ll see her again sometime, anyway. And I know she won’t really be upset.”

She’ll be surprised, he knows.

But she’ll also be glad for him.

And horribly smug.

He imagines she laughed herself into a frenzy when she got his notice.

“I don’t have any obligations,” Cassian says. “I don’t have anywhere to go, nothing I need to do. Well; I should probably arrange for someone to pack up my things on Chandrila, and send them here, but I won’t do that until I get settled here. The point is, I’m done with the war, and I’m staying with you.”

Jyn turns the datapad off, and hands it to him.

“Just like that?” She asks, skeptical again.

He nods. “Just like that.”

“Learning about your mother really did a number on you.”

“I understand her,” he says, quietly. “I realize now that all she ever wanted was a family, and that a family was all she ever wanted for me, too. She lost so much, and she sacrificed so much, to keep us all together, and I… She was _good_ , Jyn.”

And by that, he means, _I want to be good_.

“It wasn’t just her, though,” he continues. “While I was on Sernpidal, I talked to Shara’s sister, Maria, and she asked me about Poe. About what I would teach Poe, after Shara was gone. How I’d help raise him. And it got me thinking about the war, and why I fight, and what would happen to Poe if another war started up again, and what I’d want for him. And I realized, very clearly, how badly I want him to not end up like me. I want him to always fight for the right reasons, for it to always be a choice.” He looks at Jyn. “It hasn’t been a choice for me, for a long time. I forgot it was supposed to be.”

He watches her face as she absorbs this, as her exhaustion gives way to sorrow.

“Why did it take you so long to _figure that out?_ ”

“Because if fighting in the war was my _choice_ , then it meant that _I_ was _choosing_ to do terrible things.”

He says the words quickly, and exhales at the end of his sentence, and Jyn stares at him.

“You don’t know everything,” he murmurs. “You know a bit, but you don’t… The worst things, I… There are so many things I talked myself into believing I didn’t have a choice in doing, that it was required, that there was no possible other way… But I always had a choice. I always did, and I sometimes chose wrong. I chose my own righteousness, and… And my own survival.”

“I remember,” Jyn says, quietly. “I remember when we… Operation Yellow Moon.”

When the Alliance learned of the second Death Star, when Leia suggested luring Imperial forces away so the Alliance fleet could regroup, at the cost of the lives of potential recruits. When Jyn agreed to the plan, even though she wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do.

“I remember that feeling,” she continues. “The… The frustration, and the sadness, the guilt, and… You told me that was how you felt, but all the time.”

He nods, because he remembers this conversation well.

She’d asked him to marry her at the end of it.

It’s a good memory.

“And I told you that even though you did all that, all the terrible things, that you still advanced something good, and it made you righteous,” she says. “That it makes you extraordinary. And I remember thinking, _I’m never going to find anyone like him, I’m never going to love anyone like I love him_. And I asked you to marry me, and you said yes. And I thought… I thought we were really going to be okay. Even with the Second Death Star, I thought… Kriff, I was so hopeful. I thought you would stay with me no matter what, because you believed that I loved you, because you… I thought you would stay with me.”

She closes her eyes, and the hands over her stomach are folded together tightly, her nails digging into her skin in a way he thinks must be painful.

That memory; it’s always been a good memory for him.

It breaks his heart to think it’s a memory that makes her so sad.

“I was so happy,” she whispers. “And I just… I didn’t realize that you _weren’t_. That you were never going to be, because I wasn’t… No matter what I say, I can’t convince you of your own worth. My word doesn’t mean anything to you, and I…”

 _I can’t save you_.

“Jyn,” Cassian says. “That’s not it. It wasn’t… I’ve never understood your view of me, but--”

“I loved you, and it wasn’t enough,” Jyn snaps, and there is anger in her eyes now, like a wildfire, and he knows she’s liable to burn him alive.

She’s done it before.

“You loved me, and I was grateful,” he says. “I was grateful. I _am_ grateful. You always… You made me think that maybe, _maybe_ … I could be good, I could be deserving that… That maybe I could see myself, and my choices, like you did. One day.”

“And do you?”

He swallows.

He thinks it’s okay, now, for him to leave the war. To stop fighting, to walk away. He knows this is not his war, not anymore. That he’s accomplished everything he set out to do, to fight for.

He wants this peacetime, so badly.

He’s home now. He gets to look at Jyn again.

He could be so happy.

But he’s still unsure that he deserves to be.

“No,” he tells Jyn now. “Not yet.”

“So you’ll leave again,” she says, and her anger is gone, leaving hopelessness in her voice again, and he hates that, hates hearing her sound like this, hates knowing that he’s the reason for it. “You’ll feel guilty, you’ll decide you don’t deserve to rest, and you’ll go back to the war.”

She gets to her feet, and looks down at him.

“I can’t help you with this,” she says. “I can’t help you decide that you’re good, that you can be forgiven for the things you’ve done, that you can be _loved_. I’ve tried, and I can’t. I accept that now. But if you… If you want me to _believe_ you, that you’re staying, then you have to figure it out on your own. I can be here, but it’s clear that me being here doesn’t really matter.”

“Don’t say that,” Cassian says, alarmed. “Of course you being here matters, it means everything--”

“But not for this,” Jyn says. “This, your… your hatred of yourself, that doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

He looks at her. “But you hate me, too.”

They look at each other for a moment, and Cassian sees a whole universe in her expression, dozens of emotions appearing and flickering away in the blink of an eye.

“I tried, so hard, to hate you,” Jyn says, and she maintains eye contact with him as she speaks, and there is true hurt in her eyes. “I wanted to, so badly, because you were right; if I hated you, everything would have been easier. But I… I never could.” She laughs a little, and shakes her head, turning her eyes to the ceiling for a moment, like she’s just thought of something. “Kriff. I guess people never really do get over their first love.”

He doesn’t know what she’s talking about, who she’s spoken to about this, but he also gathers that it isn’t truly important.

“So no, Cassian, I’ve never hated you,” she says. “I thought if I said it enough, I would. But that… I tried to hate Saw, and my father, and even my mother, too, and I never could. I loved them all too much. Still did. Despite it all. In spite of everything.”

“You’re more forgiving than I am,” Cassian says, quietly.

She shrugs. “I guess.”

“It’s a remarkable trait to have.”

“Feels more like a curse,” she admits.

“Your opinion matters to me, Jyn,” Cassian says, because he needs her to know this. “But this, with me, I… You only know a handful of the terrible things I’ve done. You don’t even know the very worst thing I’ve done. And I live with that, with the rest of it, everyday, so of course I’m more condemning of myself.”

“Right,” she says. “And I can’t help you with that.”

She turns, and begins to walk away, though he doesn’t know where she’s going; it’s her apartment.

But it is that image of her, of her walking away, that he realizes terrifies him more than anything.

He thinks, maybe, she can help.

Maybe if she understands why he is the way he is, she’ll know why he can’t forgive himself.

She’ll understand him better.

It’ll require a leap of faith from him.

He’ll have to trust her.

And he _does_ , so he speaks.

“The worst thing,” he breathes, and then chokes on the words.

But Jyn has stopped. Her back is to him still, but she’s not walking further away, and it’s something. It’s everything.

He pulls himself together.

“No one knows,” he says. “Kay was the only one there, who knew, and he… I told him we were to never speak of it again, to _anyone_. I told him not to tell Draven, to not tell anyone in the Alliance. I… I was scared that I’d made the wrong choice. I was scared Draven would want to talk about it, and talking about it again, then, would’ve unhinged me. I wouldn’t have been able to bear it, my guilt, my terror, my…”

Jyn still has not turned, and Cassian thinks she knows he can’t say any of this to her face.

But he does want her to hear it now.

Because she needs to know. She deserves the truth, the whole truth, of who he is.

She’s long wondered why he hates himself so much, why he cannot see his work the same way she does, why he cannot forgive himself for all of it. Why this one, terrible crime, at the heart of it, prevents him from forgiving himself for _any_ of it.

Because it’s the worst. It’s too much. It’s unforgivable.

“Murdering Sebastian Bain was the worst thing I’d ever done, for a long time,” he says, and his voice shakes, but he forces himself to keep going. “He was a child, and I loved him; but there was a way for me to rationalize it. To justify it, because it almost certainly saved the lives of thousands. And Asori and Taraja were there, and knew what happened, and were able to convince me that what I’d done was awful, but ultimately something I could reckon with. But this…”

Jyn needs to know.

She needs to know exactly what kind of man the father of her son is.

“Twelve years ago, when I was twenty-four,” he says, “I tortured, and executed, for the Empire, the bravest, most loyal rebel soldier in the Alliance.”

Jyn’s back is very still, breathing evenly, and she gives nothing away.

“His name was Alfie, and he was my friend,” Cassian continues, but the words tear at him, leaving long scratches in his throat, massacring his insides, this long buried secret given a voice. “And I promised him I would save him, that he would live to see his child again, but instead, I tortured him, and I killed him.”

He closes his eyes, and he can still see Alfie’s face.

Big brown eyes, pale skin, long black hair.

Angry burns on his arms, his body flinching from the fire.

The hole opening up in his forehead, his body slouching to the white floor.

“And then five years ago,” Cassian says, “I got his daughter killed. His little girl. She’s dead, and it’s all my fault. She trusted me, and I couldn’t save her. And she was just a child.”

Big hazel eyes, pale skin, short black hair.

Sand on her clothes, knuckles bruised.

A blaster hole in her abdomen, blood spilling out.

In the present, he buries his face in his hands.

There is no coming back from that.

Cassian has always known this.

Now Jyn will, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alfie, and Jenoport, and what happened there, is depicted in GRAY AREAS, Chapter 38. It is not brought up in YOU MUST REMEMBER THIS, because it was something Cassian believed he could never tell Jyn about. He's going to, now, because he knows it's time. I think you can get away without reading that chapter from GRAY AREAS, though.


	11. Nemo malus felix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nemo malus felix: peace visits not the guilty mind.
> 
> Or: no rest for the wicked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: violence, blood, mention of suicide.

**_Five years earlier, 5 ABY_ **

Jakku, Cassian thinks, is not a planet he’ll ever want to return to.

It isn’t the first desert planet he’s been on, but he thinks it’s the first that truly encompasses the worst of deserts. It’s totally barren, and derelict, and monochromatic.

He thinks of Mantooine, of the brilliance of the colors of the planet, the oranges, reds, yellows. Jakku is simply brown.

If everything goes as planned, he won’t have to come back here.

And he won’t have to stay here for much longer.

He’s currently in the makeshift command center the Alliance has set up on the surface of the planet, trying to track the various squads running the ground assault, as Leia paces the room. He keeps catching her moving out of the corner of his eye, her hair tied back in one long braid that swings behind her, like a tail, and its movement is distracting, and he tells her as much.

“Sorry,” she grumbles, but her shoulders don’t relax, and she only pauses momentarily in her pacing before continuing.

“It’s going okay out there,” he reminds her, and this is, for the most part, true.

Leia scowls at him. “I know that. I’m just…”

She sighs, but Cassian doesn’t need her to finish her sentence. He understands.

She’s worried for the rebels fighting their way across the desert surface.

He is, too.

They’re winning, they’re pushing Imperial forces back klick by klick, but they’re taking heavy losses. The Imperial soldiers are all but completely suicidal; they know they’re losing, know their side has been vastly depleted in the last year, and so they’re more concerned with taking down as many rebel soldiers as they can with them over any attempt at survival.

And Jyn is out there, somewhere.

He’s not in charge of tracking her team, and he isn’t sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing. He’d know where she was, exactly, if he was monitoring her team’s progress, but then he’d _know_ , and he’d only be able to watch, and not help.

He’s itching to be out there, with the soldiers.

He knows he should be.

He’s one of them.

No sooner does he think this than they receive a distress signal from one of the teams engaging directly with the Imperial Army. This team came to them from one of the Outer Rim rebel groups aligned with the Alliance, and they’re currently in the Goazon Badlands, fighting off a squadron; or they were, until a _Victory I_ -class Star Destroyer was brought down in the dirt just ahead of them.

They want to board it, and find any Imperials who might have survived the crash, but they need more soldiers.

Cassian watches as Leia helps re-organize ground troops.

He gets to his feet, in time for her to turn and look at him.

She instantly recognizes the resolve in his face.

“Absolutely not,” she says, scowling.

“They need help,” he insists.

“But they don’t need _you_ , specifically,” Leia replies.

“They do, though,” Cassian says. “They need soldiers, with experience, who know the layout of a _Victory-I_ class Star Destroyer. And I _do_. How many other rebels can say the same?”

Leia bites her lip, looking torn, but Cassian has a good point, and she knows it.

“It’s a bloodbath out there,” she says, quietly, and somewhat unexpectedly.

“Not my first,” Cassian says.

He blinks, and sees Scarif, the blue sea, the beach, bodies littering the ground.

Jyn, at his side, propping him up.

He remembers that feeling, that feeling like they were going to die there, following the rest of Rogue One.

(They hadn’t known all the others were dead then, but they’d assumed.)

(Sometimes he thinks they should’ve died there, with the others.)

“You don’t have to do this,” Leia says, dragging him out of the memory.

“I know,” Cassian says.

(But part of him thinks, _No, I do. This is what I do, this is who I am; a soldier. Nothing more, nothing less_.)

“But I want to,” he says instead.

At last, Leia sighs.

“Fine,” she groans. “Take a comlink, and send me updates. _Me_ , Cassian, not any of the other radio operators. They’re overwhelmed. I can deal with whatever shenanigans you get up to on my own.”

He smiles, and nods.

“Yes, General,” he says.

Leia shoots him a dirty look. “You know I’m not a General.”

“Not yet,” Cassian says, shrugging. “I imagine you’ll be one before all this is over.”

(In a way, he’s right.)

He borrows a scarf from Leia, a soft brown one that will help him blend into the sand of Jakku. (“I want that back, and I’d better not have to unravel it from your dead neck,” Leia snaps.) He takes a couple blasters, and a spare knife, and thinks of the lullaby pill he still has stitched into his jacket.

He won’t take it now.

He won’t have to.

He wraps the scarf around his head, and then he heads out into the battle.

The wind on the planet is blistering, sending bits of dirt and ash into Cassian’s face, but he keeps moving, heading towards the Goazon Badlands, following the tall tower of smoke that undoubtedly came from the fallen Star Destroyer. The air is thick with ash, and though the battle has largely moved away from this area of the planet, he still feels like he’s in the middle of it.

His breathing evens out.

He knows war.

It’s almost like _home_.

He makes it to the crash site with minimal difficulty.

There’s a small group gathered at the end of the crashed Star Destroyer, and Cassian can tell from their jackets and blasters that they’re Alliance-affiliated.

He goes to them.

“Who’s in charge here?” He asks, without preamble.

“I am,” says a tall man, completely bald, save for a dark moustache. He’s wearing a pair of thick goggles that protect his eyes from the sun and dirt.

“Your name?”

“Lieutenant Needo Law,” the man says. “And this is my team, we’re from the Abrion Sector. We called in about the Star Destroyer.”

Cassian can tell they’re from the Abrion Sector. There’s a Jenet among the group, with pink skin, red eyes, and elongated fingers, its whiskers twitching with the dust, and a Ukian, tall, hairless, with green skin, and slitted eyes. Alongside these aliens are a dozen people, most of their faces covered.

“I’m Major Cassian Andor,” he says. “I’m the Deputy Head of Intelligence for the Alliance. I’m here to help you.”

They all stare at him, and he can practically feel their confusion, drifting towards him, like the smoke and battle on the wind.

“The Alliance usually send officers to help ground troops?” A woman asks.

“No,” Cassian says. “But this isn’t just any battle.”

It’s the Empire’s final stand.

They could very well _win_ today.

He tries not to think about this too much.

He jerks his head at the fallen Star Destroyer. “And I have experience with Star Destroyers. I can help get you through it.”

The group seems to feel more comfortable with this reason for Cassian being here, and they nod, and listen as he offers a brief explanation of the layout, while they wait for additional soldiers, while they wait for other teams, gathering at different points outside the Star Destroyer.

They still don’t have as many as they need.

But Cassian knows that sometimes, the number of soldiers is irrelevant to who the soldiers are.

 _Make ten men feel like a hundred_.

Rogue One, smiling and nodding.

The sand of Jakku is a pale facsimile of Scarif, but it’s close enough.

They go in through one of the dozens of breaches in the Star Destroyer’s surface.

It’s very quiet inside, as the ship is powered off completely, and the only noise seems to be coming from their footsteps, from sparks shooting out of frayed wires, from the groans of the ship itself, as it sinks into the sand of the Goazon Badlands. There are bodies everywhere, of naval officers who’d been thrown around as the ship crashed, or who’d been killed in one of the many blasts from the Alliance warships that had knocked the ship out of the sky.

Cassian had toured every kind of Imperial ship while he was at the Royal Imperial Academy, and feels his skin crawling at how _weird_ this is, to see the ship so still and silent.

Heat from Jakku is creeping inside, only adding to the unnaturalness.

He realizes this ship is a tomb.

He wonders if it is to become _his_ tomb.

His team is suddenly broken up, as they are ambushed by a wave of red blaster fire.

Cassian dives around a corner for shelter, another rebel following him, and he peeks around to see that they’re being attacked by two dozen or so stormtroopers, though the stormtroopers have all taken their helmets off, likely due to the heat, and seemed to have been in the process of removing the rest of their armor before realizing they were no longer alone in the ship.

There are too many stormtroopers for the rebels to pick off at the moment; they need to get ahead, and then confront.

He yells, telling the rebels to run, and then he grabs the arm of the rebel he’s crouched in the side hall with, and he drags them to their feet, and pulls them down the hall with him.

There is very little light in the hall, and debris everywhere, but Cassian moves quickly, occasionally turning to fire behind him, the rebel running slightly ahead of him. They keep going until they can no longer hear the stormtroopers, but they also can’t hear their fellow teammates anymore, and so he snags the rebel’s arm, tugging them to a stop.

“Hang on,” he grunts.

They stand there in the hall, and listen.

There is no noise, beyond their ragged breathing.

“We’ve gone too far,” Cassian murmurs. “We have to head back.”

“Can we just… breathe for a moment?”

The voice is soft, and high, and Cassian stills.

The rebel is a foot shorter than him, and he watches as they unravel the scarf from their face, and lift the goggles from their eyes.

And it’s just a girl.

A teenager, but a girl.

Her hair is black, and shorter than his, cut tight to her head, sticking up in places due to the scarf rubbing it. Her skin is pale, her face flushed with exertion, and her eyes are big, and hazel, and more than a little watery.

She’s terrified.

She’s so _young_.

“How old are you?” he asks.

“Fifteen,” the girl says, and he thinks this is the truth, that she is not lying to him now, though she could pass for younger.

“How did you get here?”

“Ziris,” she says, and at Cassian’s bewildered look she adds, “He’s my guardian. He joined the rebels in our Sector a few years ago, and he’d take me to base with him when I wasn’t in school. I started training there, and when we got the call for Jakku, I… I stowed away.”

Cassian swears under his breath, and the girl’s skin reddens.

“This is my war, too,” she insists.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” he snaps.

He can hear Leia’s voice in his head: _It’s a bloodbath out there_.

“Ziris is all I have left,” the girl says, voice rising slightly with determination, to get Cassian to understand her. “My mother died last year, and my father’s been dead for seven years. He was a rebel, in the Alliance, and he died in the war. I’m here for myself, but I’m also here for _him_. Jakku might be my only chance.”

Cassian can understand that much.

That need for revenge, to fight for dead family.

If Jakku is the last stand, then it very well might be the only opportunity for this girl to avenge her dead father.

“What’s your name?” Cassian asks.

“Tendoora,” the girl says, and Cassian freezes.

The galaxy, he thinks, cannot be that small.

“Amalie Tendoora,” the girl continues, and with that, she confirms the galaxy is really that small.

He closes his eyes for a moment, and tries to compose himself.

The memories of Jenoport dance behind his closed eyelids.

_“I’m going to get you out of here,” Cassian whispers. “Do you hear me, Alfie? I’m going to get you out of here. I promise.”_

_Alfie nods his head, sluggishly._

_“Good,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to die, Cassian. I don’t… I don’t want to die. Not in this place.”_

_“I understand.”_

_“My daughter,” Alfie tries._

_Cassian stares at him. “You have a daughter?”_

_“Back on Rishi,” Alfie says. “Her mother and I… We disagreed. Separated. My little girl, her name is Amalie. She’s seven.”_

_“Kriff, Alfie, I had no idea.”_

_“I can’t die here,” Alfie says. “Not without telling her that I love her, and that I’m so sorry for leaving her. So sorry.” He looks up at Cassian, and his eyes are filled with tears. “I want to see her grow up, Cassian. I want to see her again. I want to live.”_

Though he already knows the truth, and knows he does, Cassian asks the girl in the Star Destroyer, “Your father. His name was Alfie?”

_Cassian raises the pistol, but still sees the realization cross Alfie’s face, sees his mouth open in a round ‘o’ of horror and shock._

_Cassian shoots Alfie, landing a perfect shot in his forehead._

_Alfie slumps over, dead_.

Amalie Tendoora is no longer the seven-year-old girl her father was so desperate to see again.

“Yes,” she says, confirming that her father is the rebel that Cassian tortured and killed. “Did you know him?”

_Cassian watches as an unknown Imperial officer carefully presses open flame to Alfie’s battered and broken body. Alfie screams and howls, shaking with the pain, but does not say any intelligible words._

_Comex sighs, and turns to Cassian._

_“Want to give it a shot, Captain Willix?”_

_Torn from his silent horror, Cassian turns. “I’m sorry?”_

_“You’re here to report back on our operation to Coruscant,” Comex says. “I’d like you to really get a feel for the good work we do here. I insist.”_

_And he opens the door to the chamber, and gestures for Cassian to go inside._

“I did,” Cassian says, softly, to Amalie now. “He was a good man.”

By that, he means, _He was a better man than me_.

_“Cassian,” Alfie whispers, and his voice is a dull croak. He doesn’t move from the floor._

_“Draven sent me here,” Cassian says quickly. “We just heard about this place, and he sent me to scope it out. I had no idea, though, that you… I… Alfie, I’m so sorry.”_

_“‘S okay,” Alfie slurs. “I understand. You had to do it. You were following orders.”_

_Cassian sighs. “I’m not sure that’s good enough.”_

Amalie is smiling, and Cassian realizes now that she has the same smile, the same hair as her father.

The resemblance is remarkable.

It makes him want to scream, to break something.

Torturing and executing Alfie Tendoora is, he thinks, the worst thing he’s ever done. He thinks he’d known it was at the time, too. He was only on Jenoport on a reconnaissance mission, to try to figure out why the Empire was interested in a planet that was little more than glorified space rock; he’d quickly learned there was a detention center on the planet, filled with rebels, including Alfie.

Cassian had been undercover as an Imperial officer inspecting the facility for leaders on Coruscant, and so, when the Imperial running the facility asked him to torture Alfie, to _get a feel_ for what Jenoport was, he hadn’t said no.

He’d believed that he _couldn’t_ say no.

Saying no would’ve been the ultimate sign of betrayal to the Empire. Saying no would’ve exposed Cassian as an imposter. Saying no would’ve led to his own torture and death, and the destruction of K-2SO, who’d been with him at the time.

Saying no would’ve prevented Cassian from saving Alfie’s life.

As it turned out, saying yes wasn’t enough to save Alfie, anyway.

Cassian had tortured Alfie, and planned to break him out, but had ultimately run out of time.

Alfie was to be executed the next day.

And the head of the detention center had told Cassian to do it.

And it was the same choice.

And he’d made the same decision.

It was either the Alliance lose two men and a droid, or one man, and Cassian had chosen the smaller number of losses for the Alliance.

It’d seemed like the correct thing to do.

But he’d wondered if the thing he should’ve done, the right thing, the _only thing_ , would be to refuse to kill Alfie, and die with him instead.

Cassian suddenly realizes that Amalie is speaking.

“What, sorry?” he asks, blinking quickly, focusing on her again.

“I asked if you knew him well, Major Andor,” Amalie says.

“I considered him a friend,” Cassian says, quietly. “We… We both worked in a small group of spies, for Rebel Intelligence, so we did not see each other much, but we… We did similar work, I think. He was… He was very kind, to everyone. Well-liked.”

Amalie’s eyes are shining, and she’s so hopeful.

“You understand, then,” she says. “Why I’m here for him.”

To avenge him.

Cassian looks down at the blaster in his hand, and considers giving it to Amalie.

Of telling her, _It’s me. If you want to avenge your father, if you want to murder his killer, then shoot me_.

For a moment, he is so tempted.

For a moment, he thinks there is no other reason, no other explanation, for the tininess of the galaxy, for running into Alfie’s beloved daughter on Jakku, in this broken-down Star Destroyer.

For a moment, he thinks this is why he was not killed on Scarif. Or any of the other dozens of times.

For a moment, he thinks he was always meant to die at the hands of Amalie Tendoora.

Cassian looks at Amalie, and makes a decision.

He will get her out of this Star Destroyer.

He’ll guide her through the halls, and back outside, to the sand and dirt of Jakku. He’ll show her the way back to the Alliance Command base, and then he’ll give her his blaster, and he will tell her the truth. He’ll tell her of her father’s last days, of his torture, of his execution. He’ll tell Amalie what Alfie said about her, how much he loved her, how badly he wished to see her again. He’ll tell Amalie that not only did Cassian fail to save him, but that Cassian was the one who killed him.

A single shot to the forehead.

The same shot he killed his own brother with, a thing that had already made Cassian irredeemable.

The murder of Alfie is just another example. But, maybe, vengeance is still possible for that crime.

He will let Amalie kill him.

He doomed himself a long time ago.

“Let’s go,” he says to her now. “Stay close to me.”

Amalie shadows him through the halls, trusting him implicitly, just like so many others Cassian has met. He doesn’t know what it is about him that makes people think he’s trustworthy; his best guess is that it’s a natural aura, or charm, something like what Gabriel and Nerezza had, which made them so endearing to their soldiers on Fest. People tend to latch onto Cassian, and he never knows what to make of that confidence.

They run through the halls of the Star Destroyer, until they’re attacked by a small group of Imperials.

Cassian counts six stormtroopers, and a couple officers in black uniforms.

He swears, yanking Amalie to a stop, and doubling back, running until the blaster fire and chasing footsteps fade away.

Amalie’s breath is stuttering, and Cassian knows she is probably more scared than she’s ever been in her life.

They reach an elevator, the doors busted with the impact of the crash, and it doesn’t take much for them to shoulder the steel doors open.

Cassian peers down the shaft, and sees that it’s only fifty feet or so to the bottom, and that a wall ten or so feet above the bottom of the shaft has been blown out due to the crash, sending warm sunlight spiraling into the elevator shaft, sand occasionally blowing into the ship.

“Here’s what we’re doing,” he tells Amalie, already pulling his jacket off.

He throws it down the shaft, an extra blaster weighing it down, so it lands with a soft thud at the bottom.

“We’re climbing down,” he says.

“No,” Amalie says immediately, shaking her head, hazel eyes wide. “I can’t do that!”

“You must,” Cassian says, forcefully. “We don’t know where the others are, or if more stormtroopers are going to find us here. There’s a clear way out near the bottom of the elevator shaft, and we can reach it.”

It’s possible that they could find another way out, if they were to keep going. That they could, perhaps, find the rest of their team. That they could all stay together, and find a different exit, one that would be less terrifying for Amalie. But this is the first exit Cassian has seen, and he thinks they should go for it.

He doesn’t tell her that his intent is to get _her_ out, to safety.

He imagines she’s like her father, and would refuse to abandon her team.

Amalie’s eyes are so wide, and so terrified.

Cassian searches for a way to comfort her, and convince her to climb.

“I’m from a planet called Fest,” he says, speaking before he’s even aware of what exactly he’s going to say. “I grew up with a big sister, and a big brother, and one of the things they taught me to do is how to climb. There are mountains everywhere on Fest. Big, gray, and sharp, just like the walls of the elevator shaft.”

Amalie’s eyes flicker to the walls, and he keeps speaking.

“It was terrifying, at first,” Cassian says. “But I was never alone. My sister was there, and my brother. And they were always there, ready, to catch me. I’ll climb ahead of you, Amalie. And I swear; I won’t let you fall. I’ll catch you.”

It is the kind of promise, the kind of faith, Nerezza and Zeferino had instilled in him.

That they’d always be there for him, ready to catch him.

He’ll be ready to catch Amalie now.

“You promise?” Amalie checks, eyes wide.

Cassian nods, certain. “I promise.”

 _“I want to see her grow up, Cassian. I want to see her again. I want to_ live.”

_“You will. I promise you, Alfie. You will.”_

“Okay,” Amalie says to Cassian now.

He nods, and then drops to the floor, and carefully slides over the edge. He gives Amalie a quick tutorial, a short list of tips, and she nods, taking in his words, flexing her fingers on the ledge, watching Cassian as he begins to climb down.

He moves slowly, so she can study his movements, safe from the ledge above him.

Once he’s climbed down ten feet, he looks back up at her.

“Go ahead,” he tells her, and he smiles.

She exhales, shakily, but nods, and it is the bravest thing he’s ever seen.

She crawls over the edge, gives herself a moment to acclimate to the feel of the walls, and then she looks down at him.

There is a ferocity to her face that suddenly reminds him of Jyn.

He’d been ready to catch Jyn during their climb at the tower on Scarif, like he’s ready to catch Amalie now.

If he falls here, like Scarif, there will be no one to catch him.

He’s more okay with it now than he was then.

He and Amalie climb down the elevator shaft.

He can hear her shaking breathing, her soft sobs, but she keeps going, and she doesn’t complain. He frequently looks back up to check on her, and sees her biting her lip so strongly he thinks she’ll break the skin, but she doesn’t slow, and she doesn’t panic, and they keep going.

He calls back to her occasionally, reminders that he’s still with her, that she’s doing great, that she’s almost there, and he can hear Nerezza calling back to him on Fest as they climbed the mountains, and Taraja calling back to him as they climbed buildings around the Coruscant Underworld.

Amalie smiles a little each time he offers her encouragement.

Cassian reaches the broken wall of the Star Destroyer, and swings himself through.

He lands on his back on the sand outside, and scrambles to his feet, turning back to the opening.

He sticks his head through, smiling, in time to see the elevator doors not fifteen feet above his head open, and a man in a gray Imperial officer’s uniform step through.

“Amalie, move!” Cassian yells, and he raises his blaster, firing at the same time as the Imperial officer.

Cassian’s shot hits the officer, sending him toppling back, out of sight.

And the officer’s shot hits Amalie’s back.

She screams, and lets go of the wall.

Cassian drops his blaster, and reaches for her.

(He will never forget this moment.)

He reaches for her, and she reaches for him, but they don’t connect.

They miss each other, by milliseconds.

Cassian watches Amalie fall.

It is, thankfully, not a long fall. The bottom of the elevator shaft is only another fifteen feet, and Amalie hits the metal floor in seconds. Cassian doesn’t wait a beat before throwing himself after her, landing hard on the ground, adding bruises to his body that won’t fade for months.

She’s still alive, and he hears her whimpering as he drops to his battered knees next to her.

There’s a blaster wound in her abdomen, gushing blood on the gray floor around her, seeping into Cassian’s pants, but he ignores the stains, and reaches around for his jacket, pressing it to her stomach tightly.

“Ssh, Amalie, you’re okay,” he tells her.

But there is so much blood, too much blood.

Cassian has been here before.

A hundred different times.

_How many times does he have to watch people die? How many times is it going to be someone he was supposed to save?_

“Maj… Major A-Andor--”

“Cassian,” Cassian says.

“Cassian,” Amalie breathes. “Cassian… Am I… Am I…”

But she can’t seem to finish her sentence, and Cassian can’t blame her for it.

He answers her question anyway.

“Yes,” he murmurs.

She swallows, opening her mouth briefly, and Cassian sees that there is blood staining her teeth, that she is dying far more quickly than he anticipated.

“Amalie,” he says, and his voice shakes a little, but her eyes flicker to him.

He can’t tell her the truth now.

He can’t tell her that he murdered her father.

She wouldn’t be able to get her revenge.

Instead, he tells her what Alfie had wanted her to know.

“I was with your father, the day he died,” Cassian says, and her eyes widen, which tells him that she’s still cognizant enough to know the gravity of his words. “He was… He was in very bad shape.”

Alfie, lying prone on the dirty floor of the Imperial detention center.

Amalie, lying sprawled on the gray metal floor of the elevator shaft.

“He kept telling me how he didn’t want to die,” Cassian says, and he’s pressing his hands together on her stomach to keep her blood in, digging his nails into his jacket. “He didn’t want to die, because he had a little girl, back home on Rishi. He told me her name was Amalie, and that she was seven. He told me that he couldn’t die, not without telling her how much he loved her, and that he was so sorry for leaving her.”

Amalie’s face twists, and she sobs, and he thinks it’s likely a combination of his words, and the pain of bleeding out.

He lifts his hands from her stomach, because there is no point, not anymore.

He takes one of her hands in his, and presses his other to her face. She squeezes his hand back tightly, and he moves closer to her, brushing his hand over her short hair.

“He loved you so much,” Cassian whispers. “He was so sorry for leaving you. He wanted you to know that.”

“I l-loved him,” Amalie stutters, and Cassian nods.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

_I’m so sorry, because I killed him._

_I’m so sorry, because I couldn’t save you._

_I promised you both I would, and I failed you both_.

The only thing Cassian could’ve done to redeem himself for Alfie’s death, to make any sort of amends, would’ve been to save Alfie’s daughter. The daughter he loved so much, who he died for, trying to make the galaxy a safer place for her.

He did not die for her to die in an Imperial Star Destroyer, on the eve of the end of the war.

Cassian blinks, and realizes, that this cannot be the end of the war.

It can’t end like this.

Not for him.

He can’t end the war having gotten a teenage girl killed.

He can’t end the war with the murder of her father in his heart, a murder he has never spoken of, never acknowledged.

He _can’t_.

The war cannot end.

Not for him.

Because Alfie and Amalie died for peacetime, for the galaxy to be free, and Cassian deserves no part of their sacrifice. No amount of it.

“Will I…” Amalie gasps, and shudders, and her grip on Cassian’s hand tightens. “S-See h-him?”

She’s asking Cassian if he has faith.

If he believes there’s something after this life, somewhere she can see her father again.

He suddenly feels the weight of the kyber crystal necklace around his neck.

“Yes,” he tells Amalie now. “Of course you will. Very soon.”

He wonders if part of Alfie is here now, watching this, watching his daughter die due to Cassian Andor.

“I’m so sorry,” Cassian says again, but the words mean nothing.

His apology means nothing, because there is no possible forgiveness.

Amalie’s grip on his hand slackens.

Her hazel eyes stare up at him, and a thin trickle of blood slides from the corner of her mouth.

The bottom of the elevator shaft is very, very quiet.

Like a tomb.

Cassian looks at Amalie’s blaster, and for a moment, he considers it.

He hears Jyn’s voice in his head, from four years ago, on the one year anniversary of Rogue One, when she saw, for the first time, the depths of Cassian’s self-loathing.

_“Is the war… Is that the only thing? Keeping you…?”_

Keeping him alive. Keeping him functional.

_“They were better men than me.”_

It’d been his response to her question at the time, and he thinks now that if she were to ask him the same question, he’d have a more straightforward answer.

 _Yes_.

The war is the only thing keeping him going.

He kneels next to Amalie’s dead body.

Fifteen years old, another child dead because of him.

So many, so many.

_“What happens to you, at the end of the war?”_

The Battle of Jakku rages on, above Cassian’s head, outside the Star Destroyer.

And Cassian has an answer for Jyn now, to that question.

There is no end of the war.

There _cannot be_.

Not for men like him.

Because if there’s an end of the war, then there’s a beginning.

A beginning where Cassian Andor must reckon with everything he’s done. Everything he did to make it this far. To stay alive.

There is so much blood on his hands, and he cannot justify it all.

The war ends, and Cassian has to live with himself.

And he is not sure he can.

He is not sure he _wants_ to.

So the war _cannot end_.

Cassian looks at Amalie Tendoora, and then he makes himself stand. He pulls his comlink out of his pocket, and he messages Leia, and asks her about rebels remaining in the Star Destroyer. She gives him information on their movements, and he pulls his bloodied jacket back on, and looks back up the elevator shaft.

He goes to the wall.

He begins to climb.

He finds the other rebels, and they clean the ship of Imperial soldiers. It is a bloody, long battle, and it ends with Cassian shaking, and covered in ash and sweat, with a prominent gash on his arm from a vibroblade and a burn on his cheek from frayed wiring that fell in front of his face.

But he’s alive. Impossibly, still, alive.

Night has fallen over Jakku by the time they make it out.

The battle is over.

Cassian leads the rebel survivors back to the rebel base, which he realizes has become a makeshift camp.

He finds Leia first, and hands her the borrowed scarf without a word.

She takes it, and peers into his face, at his emotionless eyes.

“Cassian?” She asks, and there is true concern there, and he despises it.

He doesn’t want it.

He doesn’t deserve it.

“There’s a fifteen year old girl, in the Star Destroyer in the Goazon Badlands,” he tells Leia. “She’s at the bottom of an elevator shaft. Her name is Amalie Tendoora, she’s from Rishi. Tomorrow morning, I’d like to take a couple soldiers, and recover her body.”

“Cassian,” Leia whispers, and that sympathy is still there, and he looks at her sharply.

“Don’t pity me,” he says. “She wasn’t the first I’ve gotten killed, and I doubt she’ll be the last.”

Leia looks like she wants to argue, so he cuts her off.

“There is still so much to do,” he snaps. “I’m telling you what I’m doing tomorrow morning, because when I get back, I’d like another assignment.”

Leia blinks at him.

“There’s a peace treaty signing on Chandrila,” Leia says, eyes studying Cassian’s battered face. “The Alliance would welcome your input.”

Cassian nods. “Okay.”

He turns, to walk further into the camp, but Leia stops him, calling after him.

“The war is over, Cassian.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, and turns back to her.

Her soft brown eyes are dark, but he can see the way she’s frowning at him in the light of Jakku’s moons.

“No,” he tells Leia, certainty making his voice hard. “No, it isn’t. There’s the Military Disarmament Act to argue against, and Imperial sympathizers fleeing to the Outer Rim. We still have work to do.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No,” he says, again. “I do.”

Leia’s face is tense, but she seems to gather something from his deadened eyes, the blood coating the jacket he holds in his hand. She only nods, and doesn’t argue, and he thinks this is the first time she’s ever seen him so clearly; seen him as the gruesome killer he really is.

He trudges into the camp.

He doesn’t know where Jyn is, but he knows he has to see her.

He can feel himself drifting, can feel himself losing his grip on himself, on reality.

He’d had K-2SO with him after he’d killed Alfie, and it was the droid’s presence that had really kept him there, had made him remember himself, had forced him to hold it together. K-2SO had known about Alfie, had witnessed Cassian torture and execute him, and had kept his word, and never told anyone of it. K-2SO had made Cassian keep going, had joined him on his next missions, at his side, in the war.

As he walks, Cassian knows he won’t tell Jyn about Amalie.

He _can’t_.

There’s nothing she can say to try and make him accept it.

Because he’d told Amalie to climb down the elevator shaft. They could’ve kept going, could’ve found another way out. Amalie had been scared, and Cassian had told her to do it, convinced her it was the only way, but _maybe it wasn’t_.

And he’d gone first, because he thought he could catch her if she’d fallen, and he’d promised her that he would, and he’d failed. He’d reached for her, and missed her, and she’d fallen.

It’s his fault she’s dead.

(It could’ve been Jyn, five years ago.)

He has no good explanation for why he isn’t the one lying broken and bloody on the floor of the elevator shaft.

He has no explanation for _himself_.

For Cassian Andor. For any of it.

He can’t imagine what Jyn would look like upon learning about Amalie, and Alfie. He knows he wouldn’t be able to bear her horror.

He glances up, and suddenly, Jyn is there.

Standing ten feet in front of him, and staring at him.

Like she heard him thinking about her, heard his anxiety and terror over what she would think of him if she knew the truth.

Her hair is a mess, half out of its usual bun, and her face is rosy with sweat. One of her sleeves is torn, and her knuckles are red and bruised and bloody, but she’s in front of him, and she’s alive.

She runs to him.

He drops his jacket, the jacket covered in Amalie’s blood, and he catches her. He hugs Jyn tightly, so tightly, that he picks her up off the ground, and she laughs, and he smiles at the noise.

“You’re okay,” Cassian whispers, in shock, because he hadn’t known until now that she was alive, had not known it for certain.

“We’re okay,” Jyn says, nodding against his neck.

They breathe together, in sync, and he clutches her to him like she is a lifeline, because in that moment, she is.

She’s keeping him here.

“Cassian,” Jyn whispers, her nose pressed to his shoulder, running her hand through his hair. “Cassian, we’re done. We’re free. It’s over, it’s all over, the war is finally _over_.”

He closes his eyes, and fights the sobs building in him, but is unable to prevent his tears from spilling over, onto her skin.

 _No, Jyn_.

“We can go home, Cass,” she whispers. “It’s over.”

He tightens his arms around her.

 _It’s not over_ , he thinks. _It can never be over_.

But for Jyn, it is.

And he knows then.

He sees the future, with absolute clarity.

Jyn is going to want to get away from the war.

And he won’t stop her.

It means that she’ll want to get away from him.

And he will let her go.

There is a fifteen-year-old girl dead in a Star Destroyer just over the ridge.

There is a corpse of an unidentified rebel in a pit on Jenoport.

There are hundreds of other, nameless, bodies scattered around the galaxy.

There is no redemption possible for him.

But, maybe, if he stays in the war; if he keeps fighting; then he can save a few more lives. He can keep what all those people died for, what he killed them for, going. He can keep the Empire down, can keep peace for everyone else.

He can ensure that their deaths were worth something.

He can ensure that Cassian Andor was worth _something_.

But for the moment, Cassian holds Jyn close, and buries his face in her neck, and lets himself cry.

 

* * *

 

**_Present, 10 ABY_ **

Cassian finishes the memory with Jyn finding him at the rebel base camp on Jakku.

He stops talking all at once, and breathes.

Jyn returned to the couch when he told her about torturing and executing Alfie on Jenoport. She’d remained there, keeping about a foot of space in between them, and did not interrupt him once.

Rather, she listened, giving no indication of her presence besides her soft breathing. She didn’t gasp, or cry, or exclaim at any of it; she only listened.

Cassian finishes, and they sit in silence.

It’s snowing outside, again, as always on Fest, and Cassian trains his eyes on the window, on the thin white snowflakes fluttering past the glass. The light past the window is all gray; the sky, the clouds, with the buildings of Fulcra mostly black, a stark contrast. But Cassian looks at the gray, and focuses on it, and thinks that it’s all he’s ever really known.

He’s been called _gray_ so many times in his life.

It’s in his blood, that gray of Fest.

It is so quiet.

Jyn, at last, sighs, and he looks at her.

Her green eyes are sad, and focused on him.

“It wasn’t your fault, Cassian,” she says, quietly.

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” he says. “There were ways I could’ve gotten her out. I chose wrong.”

“But you didn’t _shoot her_.”

He nods, because while that is true, it hasn’t ever really been the point. It’s only felt hollow, like a half-justification, something to help him sleep at night.

Jyn sighs again.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I just… I don’t know what to do for you.”

“Help me,” Cassian whispers, and his voice breaks.

Jyn’s eyes close, and a tear slips down her cheek, and he grips the edge of the sofa under his hands, trying to anchor himself, to keep himself from screaming.

He is terrified that if he starts screaming, he’ll never stop.

“I don’t know _how_ ,” she croaks, blinking at him, wiping her eyes quickly.

And he doesn’t know how, either.

This has always been his problem, and now she knows it, and knows why.

“I can’t convince you that you’re still good, despite all you’ve done,” she continues. “I’ve tried, and I can’t.”

“You still think I’m good?”

She looks at him. “Of course. It… Alfie, and Amalie… What happened to them was terrible, but I… It doesn’t change how I feel about you. You should know that. I’ve promised you that much.”

At his confused frown, she clarifies, “Every time I said I was with you… That’s what I meant.”

 _All the way_.

He realizes, then, that they were promising each other different things.

He promised her that he’d be by her side through the war, through the terrible things they had to do in it, that he would love her no matter who she had to become, until the end of the war, because that was always going to be _the end_ ; they weren’t going to live past it, or at least, he wasn’t.

And she’d promised him that she’d be with _him_ , always. Not just the end of the war; but the life after it.

She’s always looked at him the same, always loved him the same.

He doesn’t know what to make of her devotion.

“I’m sorry,” he says now.

“That doesn’t change anything,” Jyn says. “I can’t convince you of your goodness.”

“No one can,” Cassian murmurs.

“I’m not sure about that,” Jyn says, and he snaps his head around to stare at her.

There is a soft look on her face, one of utmost sympathy, of compassion.

It reminds him of the way she looked at him on Yavin 4, ten years ago, when he scrounged up a group of soldiers for her, of good men to go with her to Scarif, to fight with her, and for her.

When he’d looked at her, and told her, _Welcome home_.

The way she’s looking at him now is reminiscent of that, though with the added years, and the sorrow and anger of those years.

“I think there’s someone who can help you,” she says. “And it isn’t me. And it isn’t Amalie, or Alfie.”

“Who?” Cassian asks, because he’s lost.

(He’s so lost.)

Jyn looks at him. “You, Cassian.”

He stares at her.

He doesn’t know what to say.

She stuns him by bridging the gap of space between them, and touching the back of his hand with her fingers. He stares at the movement for a moment, almost startles at the warmth her touch brings, at how it makes him breathe again, makes his shoulders relax, and then he looks up at her.

Her eyes are still so sad.

When she speaks again, it is to offer him a directive, to offer him advice.

To offer him a place to start, to begin again.

To offer him a first step, in earning her forgiveness.

“Forgive _yourself_ , Cassian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cassian commenting that Leia is going to be a general before "all this is over" is a bit of dumb "foreshadowing." (To Leia in The Resistance.)
> 
> The italicized quotes with Alfie are from GRAY AREAS.
> 
> The point of this flashback is not to highlight the *one* event where Cassian was locked into the war; that was a lifelong process. But the point is to highlight how the Battle of Jakku, that last cataclysmic battle of the war, was seen so differently by Cassian and Jyn; for Jyn, it was the definite end, emphasized by her survival in the battle. For Cassian, it was only more of the same, the shape of things still to come, and a reminder of his long-believed inherent brutality.
> 
> They agree that the end of the war means peace. Jyn thinks she gets to have it, and welcomes it. Cassian does not believe he should have it, and fights it.


	12. Mortui vivos docent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mortui vivos docent: the dead teach the living.

Over the next month, Cassian learns of Jyn’s life on Fest.

She shows him the site where the orphanage is going to be. The building was previously used as a military outpost by the Empire, so it’s being remodeled extensively, everything being torn down and taken out, and built back up again.

Cassian must look more concerned than he’d wanted to at the thought of taking this previously Imperial space and turning it into a home for children, because Amaia adds, “We didn’t have a lot of choice, and this neighborhood is quite close to a public gymnasium.”

Amaia has been friendly to Cassian; or, at least, friendlier than Jyn. He listens to Amaia, as she recounts the long uphill battle she fought with the local government to get the funding approved, how she came to meet Travia, and how Travia had told her she’d called in an old friend from Onderon to offer advice on the process.

“I was a little skeptical,” Amaia admits, smirking over at Jyn, who rolls her eyes. “I wanted someone who understood Fest, and Travia said her friend was not from here. Imagine my surprise when Jyn turns up, speaking Festian--”

“Very, very poor Festian,” Jyn interjects, but Amaia ignores her.

“--And just generally being very kind, and good,” Amaia finishes. “And I understood why Travia had suggested we bring her in. There’s a lot to consider.”

“It took me well over a year to get the orphanage together on Onderon,” Jyn says. “We’re making good progress here, and that’s _definitely_ thanks to you, Amaia.”

“Is she always like this?” Amaia asks suddenly, turning to Cassian. “Dismissive of praise?”

“Always,” Cassian confirms, and Jyn scowls.

Cassian slowly comes to understand why Jyn had decided to stay on Fest.

He shadows her through Fulcra, and he watches as she interacts with others, smiling at their warmth, indulging in friendly conversation. There is a softness, and openness to Jyn here that he has never seen from her before. The closest he thinks would be from what he’d seen of her on Lah’mu, and he realizes that he’s seeing what Jyn is like when she’s peaceful. When she’s home.

“You’re happy here,” he tells her, as they eat dinner in a restaurant one day, two weeks after he’d come back to Fest.

She frowns at him. “I told you I was.”

“Yes, but…” He sighs. “I can actually _see_ it. I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“You could say I’m _glowing_.”

He laughs, his eyes flickering to her stomach, and she smiles.

She’s been feeling their son move inside her, and every time she tells him this, his heart stops, filling him with a mixture of excitement and terror. Because he’s _real_. She takes Cassian’s hand, and presses it to her stomach, so he can feel him too, and he never knows what to say, or how to explain himself.

He and Jyn are still not entirely okay, still a little awkward and unsure around the other, but they’re getting better.

In a lot of ways, it feels like they’re starting over, again.

He almost feels like he has to reintroduce himself. Not only to her, or their son, but to himself, as well.

He’s trying to find his place here.

Travia puts him in touch with a counselor specializing in war trauma.

The counselor’s name is Eranas Duval, a lifelong Festian, in his mid-fifties with a long dark beard sprinkled with white. He lost his twin brother to the war, he tells Cassian, during their first meeting, when Cassian arrives with a list of questions to determine if he actually wants to talk to Duval.

“Julian joined up on our sixteenth birthday,” he tells Cassian. “Our parents didn’t approve; they didn’t want him to fight, wanted him to go to university, like me. But Julian was set on it. He took up the cause, and that was that.”

Julian died three years later, when he and Eranas were nineteen. The loss inspired Eranas to specialize in trauma, to understand and help soldiers like Julian.

Cassian can understand that much.

“I lost my brother, too,” he tells Duval, during their fourth meeting.

“To the war?”

Cassian looks at him.

“You could say that,” he says.

Duval is patient, thoughtful, and wise, and Cassian tells him everything he can, everything that is no longer classified information to the Alliance. Duval listens without reservation, and judgment, and offers Cassian advice and tips on how to deal with the trauma, the guilt, and the regret. How to live with it all, here, on Fest.

Cassian has never experienced Fest in peacetime. He was born during the time of the Separatists, with his father practically frothing at the mouth to fight in the streets, his mother anxious and disturbed, shepherding her three children to safety, out of the city. He spent his childhood throwing rocks at Imperial Walkers, running messages for the Fest Rebellion around Fulcra, and learning to shoot, and kill, in his free hours at the rebel base, after school.

He’s never known Fest to be so _quiet_.

It’s Jyn who has to remind him that he doesn’t have to walk so quickly through the streets, that he doesn’t have to constantly be on his guard, looking out for stormtroopers who blend into the snow. It’s Jyn who touches his back when he jumps at the sound of a transport backfiring, Jyn who lets him hold her hand as they cross patches of ice, Jyn who stands close to him in the bustling market that inevitably reminds him of his mother’s death.

“You’re stronger than me,” he comments, one day, as he shadows her to a meeting at an already established orphanage for children on the edge of Fulcra. “You’ve gotten used to living like this, without the war, so well.”

“I never lived on Fest during the war,” Jyn replies, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “So I don’t have the same kind of memories you do. And, well… You should have seen me the first year on Onderon. I jumped at everything, carried at least five knives at all times. Edvar was very patient.”

She introduces him to everyone she knows, introducing him simply as _Cassian_ , as the father of her child, and offering no further insight on the status of their relationship, which Cassian has to admit he doesn’t even know what to classify as.

“What are we?” He asks her, one night, as he helps her put groceries away in her kitchen. He knows he sounds ridiculous, childish even, but he has to ask.

He still isn’t staying with her, but in a hotel nearby, though they see each other everyday.

There’s still that bit of space though, and it eats at him.

“We’re friends,” Jyn says, shrugging a little.

“Is that all we’re ever going to be?” He asks, and is surprised by his own daring.

Jyn looks a little startled, too, blinking at him.

“I…” She pauses, and bites her lip, thinking it over. “We’re going to be parents.”

He nods, because while that _is_ true, it wasn’t what he meant, and she knows it.

They’re both in uncharted territory here.

They’ve never been so uncertain of the other, never been in this situation before, as have none of their friends.

Cassian had messaged Shara and Kes, and told them he’d found Jyn.

He’d waited until they were both sitting, looking at him from Maria’s couch on Sernpidal, and then he’d told them that Jyn was living on Fest, and that she was pregnant.

Shara had laughed so hard he’d almost been concerned she would not die from Quannot’s, but from laughing, then and there.

Kes had looked exactly like he had on Endor, when an ewok had tackled him in a hug; stunned, and a little amused.

“You two will never get your shit together,” Kes had said, while Shara cackled behind him.

Leia, as anticipated, turns up on Fest, though it’s a month after Cassian had resigned.

She arrives unannounced, at Jyn’s apartment, and it’s Jyn who opens the door, now well over six months pregnant.

Leia stares at her for a minute, her shock only illustrated by the widening of her eyes, and then she nods.

“I see,” she says. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Jyn says, still looking a little flummoxed at the sight of Leia.

Leia peers at Cassian over Jyn’s shoulder.

“You’re dismissed, Andor,” she says, and though it’s only a formality, Cassian breathes a little easier.

“Thanks, Leia,” he says, quietly.

She nods again, and looks back at Jyn.

“Message me when the baby’s born,” she insists. “I’ll want to meet it. Han will, too.”

“I’m sure he’ll be extremely amused,” Jyn mutters, and Leia grins.

“We all are, Jyn.”

Leia leaves, and it is the last they think about the New Republic for a long time.

Jyn continues to show Cassian her life on Fest, and he continues to try to figure out where he fits in all of it.

 

* * *

 

In the dream, it’s snowing.

In the dream, Cassian walks through the snow unhesitatingly. He feels like he’s lost something, that he is trying to find something, but he can’t remember what it could be. All he can see is gray, everywhere.

In the dream, he hears Jyn say his name.

In the dream, he calls back to her, but he can’t see her anywhere.

In the dream, she says his name again, and he walks towards the sound. But her voice is fading, is getting softer, and further away, so he begins to run, yelling her name more desperately, searching for her in the gray, and the snow.

In the dream, he hears a child laugh, somewhere in the storm, and he hears Jyn laugh with it, and he knows they’re out there somewhere, but he just can’t find them.

In the dream, he listens as their voices move away from him, as they vanish into the storm.

In the dream, he keeps walking, despondent and lonely, until he finds a small black house he recognizes, the house he grew up in.

In the dream, he walks to the front door, and opens it.

In the dream, the house is silent, and he walks through the familiar halls, past his and Zeferino’s old room, past Nerezza’s old room, stopping at the door of his mother’s old pottery studio in the garage. He opens the door, and Serafima is there, standing next to a steaming basin of hot water, washing her gray clay-covered hands, warming her frigid fingers.

In the dream, he stares at the sight, so familiar and so long ago. Serafima looks up, and spots him, and calls to him: _Cassi, your hands are turning gray with cold. Come here_.

In the dream, he realizes this is a memory, that he’s heard her say these words before.

In the dream, he crosses the room, as he did in real life as a child, to stand next to her, sticking his hands in the hot water next to hers. He’s taller than her now, he thinks, and this is a change that she never lived to see.

In the dream, she looks up at him, and she smiles. _There, isn’t that better?_

In the dream, he realizes she never said that in this memory.

In the dream, he looks at his hands, and sees that his hands are not gray like Serafima said, but red, covered in dark blood. He scrubs at them, furiously, feeling anxiety and horror spiking in him, and he knows he’s dreaming, and he wonders if he can wake himself up from what is becoming a nightmare.

In the dream, Serafima’s hand grasps his under the water, forcing him to still, and he looks at her.

In the dream, Serafima says, as she did in real life, _You are so good, Cassi_.

In the dream, Cassian says, as he didn’t in real life, _I’m not, Mama_.

In the dream, Serafima lifts her other hand, and touches his face. She says, as she didn’t in real life, _But you have tried to be. And you can still be. You still have time, Cassi._

In the dream, Cassian stares at her.

In the dream, Serafima smiles.

In the dream, Cassian looks at their hands in the water, and sees that his hands are no longer stained red with blood, but stained gray with clay.

In the dream, he watches bits of clay flake off, and disappear in the clear water.

 

* * *

 

Cassian wakes from the dream, dresses, and is in front of Jyn’s door before he’s even aware of deciding to go there.

She opens the door, takes one look at him, and pulls him inside.

“Cassian,” she breathes, taking his face in her hands, making him look at her. “Cassian, what’s wrong?”

“My hands,” he says, and his voice is a croak, and he suddenly realizes that he’s sobbing, that his face is wet with tears. He didn’t put gloves on before leaving his place, and he shows Jyn his freezing cold hands, and he knows he must look crazed, that he is likely scaring her, but she has to understand. “Look at my _hands_.”

She does, shaking her head, still bewildered. “I don’t… Cassian, are you hurt--”

“She was there,” he whispers, trembling still, looking away from Jyn’s eyes to his hands, hands that are whole and brown and largely unmarked, though very cold. “She was in her studio, and she called to me, and she told me my hands were gray, but they weren’t, they were covered in _blood_ , there was so much blood, Jyn, and I couldn’t get it off, I kept scrubbing, and I couldn’t--”

He breaks off into hysterical sobs, and Jyn pulls him further into her apartment, sitting him down on the couch and kneeling on the couch at his side, gripping his face in her hands again.

“Cassian, look at me,” she says, voice calm, speaking slowly. “Cassian. _Cassian_.”

“And she was acting like there was nothing wrong, like there wasn’t any blood,” he continues, still breathless, eyes still locked on his hands, even as Jyn says his name, trying to get his attention. “But there _was_ , there was so much, and I--”

_Slap_.

Jyn slaps him across the face, and he stops speaking.

He finally looks at her, and he sees that her eyes are wide, and scared, and focused on him.

“Cassian,” she says, calmly. “ _Breathe_.”

She breathes loudly, and slowly, maintaining eye contact with him, until he calms down, until he can mimic the pattern, until his heart rate has slowed.

“Good,” she says, nodding. “Do you know where you are?”

It is not the first dream he’s had that has left him breathless, and hysterical, not the first dream Jyn has shaken him awake from. Of course it isn’t. His sleep is haunted by memories, by nightmares, by terrors. Duval is helping him get past them, teaching him how to go back to sleep willingly.

But this dream was different; it was so real.

He went to Jyn because he _had_ to go to her.

“Your apartment,” he replies, voice still shaky.

Jyn nods again. “Okay. Now… What the hell are you talking about?”

He describes his dream, more clearly this time, and Jyn listens, taking it in.

When he’s done, she looks thoughtful, with a soft smile on her face.

“That was a good dream, though, right?”

“I’m not…” He shakes his head. “I’m not who she wanted me to be. I’m not… She told me so many times to be good. She did, and my father, and my sister and my brother… They wanted me to be good, they had such… such _hope_ for me, and I am _not_ , I am not good, I’m…”

He leans over, pressing his face into his knees, his hands gripping his hair.

Jyn’s hand settles on his back. Hesitantly, and then more insistently, rubbing circles over his spine.

“You have time, Cassian,” she murmurs. “She told you that, and it’s true. You have _time_.”

Time, left, to be good.

To be someone better than who he was.

“I don’t know what to do with time,” he whispers, and this is true.

He’s always been running out of it. Or away from it.

So many memories, events, that have passed in the blink of an eye. And the memories he’s forced himself to bury, to forget, to hide from.

Everyone he’s ever loved has gone so fast, has disappeared more quickly than he’s ever wanted them to.

Even Jyn was gone before he was ready to let her go.

He breathes into his knees, trying to pull himself together.

He forces himself to sit up, dislodging Jyn’s hand from his back, and he looks at her.

“There’s so much blood,” he tells her.

She nods. “I know.”

And she does. She really does, he realizes.

“But there’s… There’s a lot of gray, too,” he says.

She nods again. “Yeah, Cass. There is.”

“I’m trying,” he says. “I’m trying.”

A soft smile crosses her face. “I know, Cass. I know.”

She’s glad that he’s been seeing a counselor, likes that Cassian has all but latched himself to her side since he came back to Fest. She’s watched him carefully, and she knows he’s putting in an effort, that he’s changing before her eyes, for the better.

He takes her hand, and she lets him.

“It’s very late,” Jyn says. “And I’m exhausted. Your son doesn’t like letting me sleep.”

“That’s all you,” Cassian says. “I sleep very still. You’re the one who takes on armies in their sleep.”

She laughs, loudly, like he hasn’t heard her laugh in so long, and it makes him smile, and he squeezes her hand.

“Stay the night,” she says.

“I’d like to.”

He follows her down the hall to her bedroom, and he’s never been in it before, and he looks around. The room is clean, though the closet is a mess, sweaters and scarves thrown around haphazardly. The blinds on the window are only half-closed, and Fest is a mass of impassable blackness behind the glass.

Cassian turns away from the window, and sees the hologram of Jyn, as a child, her parents hugging her.

He doesn’t look at it for long before tugging off his coat and shoes.

He slips into the bed next to her, and they look at each other.

They haven’t shared a bed in over four years.

“I’ve been dreaming about her, too,” Jyn says, and at his frown, she clarifies, “Serafima. Your mother. I’ve been dreaming about her.”

“What?”

He doesn’t know how this could be. Jyn never met Serafima; she died sixteen years before Cassian met Jyn.

“I don’t know what she looked like, exactly, but it’s her,” Jyn says. “I’m sure of it. She has your smile, and your eyes, and curly black hair, like how you’ve described her.”

“What does she say to you?”

“She never _says_ anything,” Jyn replies. “But she’s always there. She doesn’t leave.”

She tells him about this reoccurring dream she’s had, where she’s in a house on Fest, with her mother, and Cassian. How Lyra leaves, and then Cassian, and just when Jyn thinks she’s alone, she turns, and Serafima is at the table, making pottery with gray clay.

“She gives me some of the clay,” Jyn says. “But I can’t make it look… She turns it into different colors. Reds, blues, purples, greens, yellows. So many colors, and I can never do it. But I try, and somewhere in the house, we hear a child laugh, and she smiles at the noise, and we just sit there, and… It’s nice. I can’t… I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s nice.”

“It sounds nice,” Cassian says, quietly. “She looked very peaceful whenever she was making pottery. I would’ve watched her more, but it was always so cold in her studio, and…” He sighs.

He wishes he’d spent more time with her.

He wishes he’d told her more how grateful he was for her, for staying with him.

He looks at Jyn now.

“He’s going to know,” Cassian whispers. “He’s going to know how important you are. He… I’ll make sure he knows how important it is to stay close to you. I’ll… Leaving you, for so long, is one of the worst mistakes I’ve ever made. It was the wrong choice, and he’ll know that.”

Jyn doesn’t need him to clarify who he’s talking about. She looks into his face, and she nods.

“Okay.”

“I know you don’t believe me, but I won’t leave you again.”

“I know you’re trying,” she says, which he knows is the best she can offer him, at the moment. “I think you’re getting better.”

_Forgive yourself, Cassian_.

“We have time,” Cassian says, and Jyn nods.

“We have time,” she agrees, and she leans her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

 

* * *

 

Cassian and Jyn have time.

But not everyone does.

They are reminded of this, one morning, when Kes Dameron calls.

Shara Bey is out of time.

Shara Bey is dead.

 

* * *

 

It’s only been a month and a half since Cassian left Sernpidal, and everything looks much the same.

But he has Jyn with him this time, and he knows this makes all the difference.

She doesn’t say much, as the ship breaks the atmosphere, showing her Sernpidal for the first time, the dry deserts, huge oceans. He watches her as she blinks, unaccustomed to such brightness after deep space, and then the months on Fest before that.

She’s quiet as they take a transport to Maria Bey’s house.

The door is once again opened by Poe Dameron.

He’s somber this time, frowning, though he can’t help but smile at the sight of them. He throws his arms around Cassian first.

“Hi, Poe,” Cassian says, hugging him back. “How are you doing?”

Poe shrugs a little, and then he turns to Jyn, and his eyes widen in a way that is almost comical, and Cassian remembers that Poe has not seen Jyn in six and a half months.

“Jyn,” Poe breathes, “You _grew_.”

Cassian can’t help but laugh, while Jyn grins, rolling her eyes, and pulling Poe into a hug.

“I did,” she confirms. “We are all just as surprised as you, Poe.”

Kes appears then, and he shakes his head at them.

“Look at you, Erso,” he comments. “You know, the team always said you were a bit of a wild card, but this is really going above and beyond.”

“You’re very funny, Kes,” Jyn mutters, but she steps forward and hugs him tightly. “It’s good to see you. I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks, Jyn. And it’s good to see you. And you do look great.”

“I know, I’m kriffing glowing.”

Kes huffs a laugh, as Poe takes Jyn’s hand to pull her inside. Kes turns to Cassian.

“Anyone else, I would’ve said they were joking,” Kes says. “A divorce and an accidental pregnancy? Come on.”

“You’re telling me,” Cassian mutters, hugging Kes.

They part, and Cassian studies Kes’ face, taking in his exhaustion, the grief at the corners of his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Kes,” Cassian murmurs.

Kes nods. “Thanks, Cass. Shara, uh… She really loved you, you know?”

Cassian nods, even as the words tear him apart.

“Yeah,” Cassian says. “I loved her, too. How are you… How are you doing?”

Kes shrugs, looking very like his son. “It’s, uh… Touch and go. We knew it was coming, so we all got to say goodbye, which was nice. And she went in her sleep, so. Very, very peaceful, and that isn’t something you frequently get with Quannot’s.”

Cassian doesn’t imagine it is.

He follows Kes inside the house.

There are people already in the house, the majority of them Sernpidal natives, old friends and extended family of Shara and Maria. Cassian shadows Kes, and spots Levi Bey, Shara’s father, talking with a small group of mourners. Levi looks exhausted, and much older than he really is.

Maria is in the kitchen, nursing a large mug of coffee. She smiles at Cassian when she sees him, and he smiles back.

“I didn’t bring flowers this time,” he says, unnecessarily, and Maria snorts.

“But we did bring Festian food,” he adds, and sets his bag on the counter, Kes leaning over to help him take out the dish he and Jyn had made before leaving for Sernpidal.

“You’re forgiven for the lack of flowers, then,” Maria says, but the smile on her face is strained, and Cassian hugs her, the weight of the loss heavy on their shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Maria.”

Maria shrugs, and Cassian knows that she shrugs, like Kes and Poe do, because there is nothing to say. Nothing to make it better, no way to explain how any of them feel.

It is sad, and unfair, and they’re bitter.

“I met your Jyn,” Maria says. “Only for a minute, but I’ll get to talk more to her later. I didn’t get to shake her hand, either, because Poe was holding onto hers so tightly.” She smiles again. “That’s a good sign, I think.”

A sign of Jyn’s devotion to Poe, and how Poe adores her.

“It is,” Cassian says.

 

* * *

 

Shara’s funeral is lovely.

That’s the best word Cassian can use to describe it. _Lovely_. There are Sernpidalian wildflowers everywhere, decorating everything from the chairs to the long wooden casket Shara’s body rests in. All the Sernpidal women have flowers in their hair, and Cassian watches Maria tuck two dark blue flowers in Jyn’s hair, with Jyn looking very emotional at the gesture.

Shara wove flowers into her hair on their wedding day, Cassian remembers.

He and Jyn sit together, and they recognize several of the attendees as former members of the Alliance. Cassian is unsurprised that Leia has been unable to make the funeral, but they see L’ulo L’ampar, the leader of Shara’s Alliance squadron, speaking quietly with Poe, who has clearly met him before, going by the boy’s smile as he looks up at the green alien. Jyn grabs Cassian’s arm when she spots Lando Calrissian, of all people, talking to Kes.

“What’s he up to these days?” she asks.

“Don’t know,” Cassian says, and at Jyn’s disbelieving look, Cassian clarifies, “Leia prefers not to know. So I don’t know either.”

It’s a funeral, so Jyn doesn’t laugh, but she does smile.

They both sober up quickly when they see Luke Skywalker among the mourners.

He’s dressed in dark robes, his hood pulled up, perhaps as an attempt to mask his identity, as if he could possibly hide from anyone. Luke Skywalker is a walking, living legend; the closest thing the entire galaxy has to a shared god. He draws stares, and murmurs, but he acts impervious to it all, speaking momentarily to Levi and Maria Bey, and longer to Poe.

Cassian and Jyn watch Luke for a minute, and then turn away.

They’ve never known how to act around him. They’ve always felt an odd connection to him, as he destroyed the Death Star, but they’ve never known how to talk to him, as anything more than an acquaintance. Cassian has spoken to Luke quite a few times over the years, and he considers Luke to be kind, and patient, and generous, and above all, impossibly good. He thinks this is why he struggles so much with how to behave around Luke; he’s never met anyone so undeniably _good_.

The service starts, and Jyn tucks her hand into Cassian’s, and he holds it tightly in both of his.

He looks at the casket ahead of them, draped with blue and purple flowers.

All at once, it hits him.

Shara Bey is dead.

They’ve known it was coming for months, known she was going to die, but Cassian still feels gutted by the loss.

He pictures Shara the last time he saw her, at the Port of Sernpidal City, when he was leaving to go find Jyn.

_“I’m proud of you, Cass,” she says, and he can feel her smiling against his shoulder. “This is a good decision, and you aren’t going to regret it. And I am so glad I got to see it, and tell you that I knew you were going to do this.”_

She died knowing that he loved her, that he was grateful to know her, that he considered her to be part of his family. It is more than he can say for many, and he knows Shara was likely okay with that being their last conversation. He is, too, for the most part.

But he will miss her, very much.

At the front, Kes sits, holding Poe close, Maria on their other side, clutching her father’s hand.

Luke Skywalker stands at the back, and says nothing.

Cassian holds Jyn’s hand, and watches the tears slide down her face.

Shara’s funeral is lovely, but Shara Bey is still dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dream occurred in real life, in GRAY AREAS; but Serafima never told Cassian that he had time.


	13. Temet nosce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Temet nosce: know thyself.

Afterwards, they linger at Maria Bey’s house, where the reception is taking place, many of the guests staying there until night has fallen.

Cassian spends most of the time in the kitchen, washing dishes, because he can remember the funerals for his father and his mother, and how Nerezza preferred to hide in the kitchen, doing the dishes, rather than deal with the mourners. Cassian, who had been six when his father died and ten when his mother died, had hidden in the attic while mourners converged on the house. But he’s thirty-seven now, and can’t really hide in an attic anymore.

And he’s pretty sure Maria won’t mind the dishes being done.

He’s jolted from his work by a hand on his shoulder, and he turns, coming face to face with Luke Skywalker.

“Sorry,” Luke says, upon seeing how Cassian startled at the touch.

“No, you’re fine,” Cassian says, quickly. “Just didn’t hear you.”

“Jedi trick,” Luke says, deadpan, but he smiles, ruining the facade. “How are you, Cassian?”

“I’m fine,” Cassian replies, and this is, for the most part, true. “How are you, Luke?”

“Good, good,” Luke says, looking into the sink, filled to the brim with soapy water. “Need any help?”

“Got any jedi tricks for washing dishes?”

Luke laughs, and it’s a soft, nice sound, and it makes Cassian think that he doesn’t laugh very much. He shakes his head, rolling up the sleeves of his robe, and takes a dish from Cassian, who can’t help but wonder at the sight of Luke Skywalker, jedi master, hero of the galaxy, washing dishes in a house on Sernpidal.

“You’re staring,” Luke says, and Cassian quickly looks away.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“I’m used to it,” Luke says, cheerily. “People tend to forget I’m a person, too, you know? I wash dishes, take out the trash…”

“Yeah, but you’re the only one who does all that while wearing jedi robes.”

Luke laughs again. “You sound like my sister.”

Cassian thinks that Luke and Leia don’t look anything alike, save for maybe their smiles, and how they share a similar look in their eyes that suggests they are both far older than they actually are, which is just past thirty years old.

“She talks about you a lot,” Luke continues. “She’s very fond of you.”

“She’s grown on me, too.”

“You’re quite a bit alike, I think,” Luke muses, carefully drying a ceramic blue plate. “She once told me that you were exactly the kind of person she wanted to be.”

Cassian almost drops a bowl back into the sink. “When the hell did Leia say _that?_ ”

“Right after I first met her,” Luke replies, looking amused. “So, what, about ten years ago? Just after the Death Star, when she was introducing me to the Alliance. She pointed you out in the mess hall one day as an example of who I should aspire to be.”

Cassian takes these words in, feeling both shocked and deeply touched.

He’s always known that Leia likes him, has always considered her a friend, but he’d never known that she’d actually _admired_ him. Admired him enough to suggest to _Luke Skywalker_ that Cassian Andor was the kind of person he should be.

“Like I said,” Luke says, carefully prying the bowl from Cassian’s grip, a knowing look in his eye. “She’s very fond of you.”

“She’s very kind,” Cassian says, voice a little rough.

Luke snorts. “Not sure I’d call Leia _kind_. She sure doesn’t say anything she doesn’t absolutely mean.”

“Yeah, well,” Cassian shrugs, returning to the dishes. “I’m not convinced she gave you the right advice, ten years ago.”

Luke looks at him then, expression thoughtful.

“You’re very bright, Cassian,” he says, unexpectedly.

“I’m very… Sorry, what?”

“Bright,” Luke says, smiling. “Your… It’s kind of hard to explain, and I’m not sure you’ll understand it, but you’re very… The Force… Okay, so think of--”

“I’m gray,” Cassian says, interrupting him, and Luke stills. “I’ve been told this before. I’m gray.”

The Angels of Iego had called him gray, had told him he was good, and bad; a mixture of the two.

And Chirrut, ten years ago, had told Cassian the Force moved strongly around him, and that Cassian himself was gray. And then after Cassian had refused to kill Galen Erso, Chirrut had told him the gray around him had changed.

_“You are not as gray anymore, Captain.”_

_“Still a little gray, though?”_

_“You will never lose it completely. You were born in the gray. It is in your very being. But this gray now… It is brighter. There is more_ light _around you, Captain. It’s nice to see.”_

“Yeah, that’s…” Luke looks intrigued, but gratified. “Yeah. Gray.”

“A bright gray?”

“Oh, yeah,” Luke says, smiling. “Pretty bright. It’s definitely gray, but it’s…”

“Bright.”

“Yeah.”

Cassian jerks his chin at the sitting room, outside of the kitchen. “Can you see Jyn?”

“She’s… Clear? That’s the only way to describe it. Clear.”

“That sounds pretty good,” Cassian says.

“You complement each other,” Luke says, a painfully knowing tone in his voice. “The Force moves strongly around you both, in a way I’ve never seen before. Kind of… It’s there, and it’s touching you both, but it’s like it… There’s still a distance. An understanding?”

Cassian thinks of Serafima, walking on Fest, and wondering at how the snow seemed to avoid her, how there seemed to be an understanding between the planet and her. Something keeping it back, at bay; Serafima’s outsider status.

All at once, Cassian understands.

He understands everything.

“Because Jyn and I aren’t supposed to be here,” Cassian says, quietly.

Luke blinks at him.

Cassian feels himself smiling.

“We weren’t supposed to survive Scarif,” he continues. “But we did, and everything since… It hasn’t been as the Force wills it, because we weren’t supposed to be here. Everything we do is because we want to, is the result of our choices.”

In his head, he hears Chirrut’s voice: _I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me_.

“Why are you smiling?” Luke asks, and he doesn’t sound disturbed; he sounds curious.

“Because we really were supposed to die on Scarif,” Cassian says, and he can’t explain it any better than that.

They’ve wondered, for years, if they should’ve died then, and he feels like they have an answer.

They should’ve died on Scarif.

But they _didn’t_.

Everything that has happened since has been unknowable, unpredictable, because none of it should have happened.

There has been nothing that Cassian was _supposed_ to do, that he _had_ to do, because he shouldn’t have been here for any of it.

It’s truly okay for him to be done with the war, because he shouldn’t have made it this far.

Luke still looks a little bewildered when Cassian turns to him.

“Thank you,” Cassian says.

“I’m not sure what I said,” Luke admits.

“You’re not the first person to tell me that I’m gray,” Cassian says. “But I think you’re the first to make me really understand why that is, and what it means.”

Luke blinks. “Glad to, uh… Help?”

“Yes,” Cassian says, smiling. “You did. Excuse me.”

And with that, he turns, and leaves the kitchen.

He finds Jyn in the sitting room, on the couch next to Maria. They’re both drinking tea, and Cassian recognizes the dark red petals in their mugs, and knows they’re drinking a tea brewed only on Sernpidal. Jyn is speaking quietly to Maria, who is listening intently, and nodding along.

Both women look up at Cassian when he reaches them.

“Can I talk to you?” He asks Jyn.

He must look as strange as he feels, because Jyn exchanges a glance with Maria, who shrugs. Jyn nods at Cassian, and lets him pull her to her feet.

He leads her to the backyard, which is empty. The moon is out, and he and Jyn look up at it for a moment, taking in its luminosity, how it allows them to see each other without any other light. Maria’s backyard is small, but neat, with short green grass and a few thin trees.

Jyn stands there, and wraps her arms around her chest, resting her elbows on her stomach.

“What is it?” She asks, frowning at him. “You look weird.”

“I, uh…”

He looks at Jyn.

“I had a very odd conversation with Luke Skywalker just now,” he says.

“Ah,” Jyn says, her face scrunching up, and he’s reminded that, like him, she’s always felt uncomfortable around Luke. Not because he’s done anything to really merit it, but because he’s so _much_ , because he destroyed the Death Star for them.

“No, it was good,” Cassian says. “Or, _I_ think so.”

“Do you… Do you want to _elaborate_ \--”

“I think we were supposed to die, on Scarif, ten years ago,” Cassian says, and Jyn freezes.

She gawks at him, eyes widening.

“And this is a _good thing?_ ”

“No,” Cassian says. “Or, yes. Maybe.”

Jyn stares, and he sighs.

“Luke said the Force moves strongly around the two of us, but strangely,” Cassian says, gesturing between him and Jyn. “He described it as it being near us, and touching us, but not like it does with most people. Like something’s holding it back. The way he described it reminded me of how Fest would act towards my mother. Like she was an outsider, like it knew she wasn’t really part of it, wasn’t supposed to be there, and so it stayed back.”

“We weren’t meant to survive,” Jyn says, eyes wide, and Cassian knows she understands what he’s trying to say.

“We’re _free_ , Jyn,” Cassian says. “We can do whatever we’d like, there’s nothing… You asked me, once, why we survived, when the rest of Rogue One didn’t. And I said we survived to make them proud. And maybe we did, and maybe we didn’t. Maybe there’s no big reason we survived, other than chance, other than that we _did_ , when we weren’t supposed to. We’re… We’re near them all, still, but we’re separate. We’re still here.”

“And you’re happy about this?”

“It makes sense,” Cassian says. “This in between feeling, this… I’ve gotten so used to feeling imprecise, and uncertain, and lost, and convinced that I haven’t been doing the right thing, terrified I’m not who I’m supposed to be, and I realize now that it… It doesn’t matter. I can do whatever I want, be whoever I want to be.”

 _Gray_ , he thinks. He’s truly gray, and he’s okay with it.

“I get to stay with you,” he says, smiling. “I _choose_ to stay with you. I _want_ to.”

Jyn blinks at him, but there’s a soft smile on her face.

“Good,” she says, and he isn’t sure if she’s telling him he’s made a good decision or that he gets to be actually _good_ now. He wonders if it matters.

“Good,” he repeats.

 

* * *

 

The next day, they take a transport to Yakovi Cassiano’s house.

On Fest, Cassian had already filled Jyn in on everything Yakovi had told him, about Serafima, and the extended Cassianos. He’d showed her the picture of young Serafima that Yakovi had given him, and had also told her about the inheritance he’d received. She’d actually yelped when he told her how much it was.

“What the hell are you going to do with all that?” She’d asked, staring at him over her dinner.

He hadn’t known then, and he’d told her as much.

He still doesn’t know now, either.

But he’d messaged Yakovi and told him he was on Sernpidal, and the old man had asked to see him, and Jyn had decided she wanted to meet him.

She gapes at the huge white house, staring at the beautiful yard, the garden overflowing with flowers in all shapes, colors, and sizes. He watches her as she lingers on the sand-covered path, turning to take it all in, her hands reaching out as if to touch the flowers, but pulling away at the last minute, likely fearful of accidentally hurting them.

“It’s beautiful here,” she says, and he nods, because he’d been just as blown away by the house, the garden, as she is now.

The door opens, and Yakovi Cassiano comes out.

He grins, and walks swiftly to Cassian, throwing his arms around the younger man.

“It is good to see you, Cassian,” Yakovi says, warmly. “Though I am sorry you were brought to Sernpidal for such a sad occasion. I am terribly sorry about your friend, she was lovely.”

Cassian had almost forgotten that Yakovi had met Shara, when she, Maria, Kes, and Poe had come to Yakovi’s for dinner that one night.

“She was lovely,” Cassian agrees. “It’s good to see you, too, Yakovi.”

Jyn wanders over, looking a little apprehensive.

“This is Jyn Erso,” Cassian says, as Yakovi takes her hand. “Jyn, this is Yakovi Cassiano, my second cousin.”

“Something like that,” Yakovi says, shrugging. He raises Jyn’s hand to his lips and brushes a kiss to the back of her knuckles. “You shine more beautifully than the sun, Jyn Erso.”

“Oh, wow,” Jyn says, clearly taken aback. “Um. Thank you, Yakovi. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I am very thankful to you, for your service to the galaxy in the Alliance.”

Jyn looks a little bit more comfortable with this comment, relaxing somewhat. “Thanks.”

Cassian follows them into the house.

Yakovi leads them to the back porch again, and Jyn stares at the view, the dark blue sea stretching endlessly out of sight, the bright Sernpidal sun shimmering in the sky over it. It’s just as breathtaking a view as it was to Cassian the last time he was here, though he thinks seeing Jyn there adds to it.

“Tell me about yourself, Jyn,” Yakovi says, once they’ve sat down.

Jyn does, Yakovi listening as intently to her as he did when Cassian told him about himself, and Serafima. The old man’s brown eyes are soft, watching Jyn as she speaks, and if there is a test he wants her to pass, then Cassian thinks she seems to be passing it with flying colors.

“You’re a remarkable woman, Jyn Erso,” Yakovi says, after Jyn has told him of her work with the orphans on Onderon, and now again on Fest.

She flushes, shrugging a little. “Thank you.”

“Fima would like you, very much, I think.”

“Fima?”

“Serafima,” Yakovi clarifies. “She preferred the nickname over her full name, at least when she was younger. Her father disapproved, of course; Fima is typically a name for boys on Sernpidal.”

Jyn nods, looking thoughtful, and then turns to Cassian. “Did anyone on Fest call her Fima?”

“Not that I can recall,” Cassian says. The vast majority of the memories he has of his parents speaking together involves them yelling at one another, or acting cool towards the other, and he can only hear his father’s voice saying _Serafima_ in a tired sort of tone. And he knows she was known as Serafima Andor by the customers who bought her pottery, and the patrons at the restaurant she worked in.

“Maybe she outgrew the name,” Yakovi says, shrugging.

Cassian isn’t so sure.

He imagines she dropped the nickname because it was what she’d liked to be called at home, on Sernpidal. She wanted to leave that identity behind, and so she left Fima Cassiano on Sernpidal, and became Serafima Andor on Fest.

Yakovi leans forward suddenly, resting his arms on the table.

“I did have something I wanted to tell you, Cassian,” he says, and the seriousness of his voice immediately has Cassian on edge.

“Yes?”

“After you left, I messaged my father,” Yakovi says, and Cassian stares. “Your great-uncle. I hadn’t spoken to him in twenty years, as I said to you, but after you were here, I decided to message him, and to tell him that he failed to destroy Fima entirely. That she lived, and prospered, elsewhere; that she married, and had three children, and that one of them was a hero, who we would have been proud to see carry our name.”

Cassian blinks at this, but makes no move to interrupt.

Under the table, Jyn takes his hand.

“He was very quiet,” Yakovi continues. “And then he asked me to pass on a message for him.” He looks up at Cassian. “He would like to meet you, in person. He says he has something for you; something of your mother’s.”

“Do you know what it is?” Cassian asks, bewildered.

Yakovi had believed that his father, Akim, had purged Serafima from the Cassiano records and histories, that he had removed all mentions of her from any source of memory. The only mementos Yakovi had had of Serafima had been the the picture from when she was a child, and the documents of her inheritance, all of which he’d passed on to Cassian.

“I have no idea,” Yakovi says, shaking his head. “I had believed I had everything left of Fima. My father refused to tell me what it is that he has, saying he would speak only to you. I should warn you that it’s possible it’s a trick, the last terrible work of a bitter old man. But it’s also possible he does have something that he managed to squirrel away from even me. But I have no clue as to what it could be.”

Cassian takes this in, looking down at the table, though he can feel Jyn’s eyes on him.

Everything Yakovi has told him of Akim has been negative, a portrait of a greedy man, a selfish man, who turned his back on his own family for his own personal greed. Akim is the reason Serafima ended up having to flee Sernpidal; he set her up for her fall.

Akim is the reason Serafima went to Fest, the reason she met Gabriel Andor, the reason Cassian exists at all.

He doesn’t know if Akim actually has something that had belonged to Serafima, something that he wants to give to Cassian now.

But Cassian knows that if he doesn’t find out, he’ll wonder over it for years.

He swallows, and looks up at Yakovi.

“Where can I find him?”

 

* * *

 

Akim Cassiano lives in Roslyn, a small city on an island on the other side of Sernpidal.

They take an actual boat to get there, with Jyn leaning over the side, staring at the dark blue sea as the boat skims over it. Cassian hangs back, nervous, one hand tight in the back of her jacket, his eyes locked on Jyn as she surveys the water.

“The water here, it isn’t like Lah’mu,” she says, loudly, almost yelling so he can hear her over the wind.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s _dark_ ,” she says, turning to look at him, shoving her hair out of her face. “This really dark blue; it contrasts with the sky, and the sun.”

She points up to the sky, a pale blue, devoid of clouds, the sun close to draining any color save for soft white light.

“Smells the same,” Cassian comments, and Jyn laughs, because he’s right.

The wind and the sea is rich with salt, like it is on Lah’mu.

“It’s nice here,” Jyn decides. “Warm. Beautiful.”

“It is,” he agrees.

He looks at her, watching the occasional dip of the boat send water flying up into her face, causing her to grin, droplets hanging from her eyelashes.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he says. “To see Yakovi, and now to see Akim.”

She shrugs. “What you told me about Yakovi made me think he was okay, and he is, but I wanted to meet him anyway. He’s your family, Cass, the only family you have left.”

“That’s not true.”

“What? You don’t count Akim, do you? He could be terrible, what if he just--”

“No, not Akim,” Cassian says, shaking his head. “Jyn. I’ve told you this before. I consider _you_ to be my family.”

She blinks at him, mouth open a little, but he knows she remembers him telling her this.

“You’re still all the family I could ever need,” he says, quietly.

He watches a flood of emotions cross her face: sorrow, happiness, adoration, and grief. But she only nods, and holds out her hand to him.

He takes it, and she pulls him close, to the railing with her, and he leans his cheek on her hair, and smells the salt of the sea.

 

* * *

 

**_Six years earlier, 4 ABY_ **

“Relax. Just, relax.”

“There are easier ways to kill me, you know.”

Jyn rolls her eyes, and Cassian laughs, but tries to follow her direction, letting his limbs loosen, his spine unbending, his shoulders drawing down.

Slowly, he lifts his foot, so he’s no longer touching the sand, but rather, floating in the sea.

Jyn stands next to him, the water brushing her shoulders, and she smiles.

“There you go,” she says, as Cassian floats.

They’re in the sea, off the coast of Lah’mu, the house that was once the homestead of Galen and Lyra Erso resting on the hills behind them, pressed up against mountains covered in green grass. They aren’t too far into the sea, as evidenced by Jyn being able to stand in the water, but to Cassian, it feels like they might as well be in the middle of the ocean.

His instinct is to flounder, to find solid ground again, and it’s Jyn’s hand on his bare chest that keeps him still, floating on the surface.

“This is called the dead-man’s float,” she says, and Cassian splutters, almost inhaling a mouthful of salt water.

“I can hear the holonet headlines now,” he mutters, spitting water, blinking salt from his eyes. “‘Newly-Married Woman Drowns Husband On Lah’mu.’”

“You are _weirdly_ convinced I’m going to drown you. Should I be concerned?”

“I’m out of my element here, _literally_. I’m not meant to be in water like this.”

“What the hell am I, a fish?”

He laughs, and Jyn flattens her hand on his chest, her thumb brushing the kyber crystal necklace at his throat.

“Anyway, this isn’t technically the dead-man’s float,” she says. “You’d have to be face-down for that.”

“I am _not_ doing that.”

“I won’t make you. But, come on, Cass; do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Cassian says, without hesitation.

“Then _relax_.”

He sighs, and lets Jyn’s other hand press his shoulders back into the water.

They’ve been coming to Lah’mu, sporadically, for four years, but this is the first time Cassian has agreed to learn how to swim. He’s wanted to, but every time they’ve come has been during Lah’mu’s stormy season, when the sea was too rough and unpredictable for them to go out very far.

But this morning, a week after their wedding on Akiva, Jyn had looked out at the sea and deemed it calm enough for a beginning swimmer.

They’re both discovering that Cassian was more nervous about learning to swim than he’d let on.

“Look at the sky, Cass,” Jyn says, voice soft over the quiet lapping of the waves.

He tips his head back, peering up at the sky.

The sun is low, approaching the horizon, as the waves are calmest in the morning and at the end of the day, and they’d chosen to head out just before sunset. Cassian’s eyes track the sun, watching the sky change from red to orange to yellow, and then to a soft, dark blue, dotted with clouds. He can even see a nearby moon overhead, a sliver of a thing, stars littered around it.

“Wow,” he breathes.

“You’re floating.”

And he is, he realizes. Jyn has let him go, and he’s floating on his own, just under the surface of the water. He forces his hands to loosen, letting his fingers skim the surface, pressing his feet and toes forward, letting the chill of the water settle in him.

The chill reminds him a little of Fest.

But this feeling, this motionlessness in the water, is brand new.

He breathes.

“This feels nice,” he says.

He turns his head, blinking at Jyn, who’s still standing next to him.

“Thank you,” he says.

She frowns. “Uh, Cass, I don’t know how to break this to you, but you aren’t _actually_ swimming yet--”

“No,” he says, quickly. “That isn’t what I mean, exactly. I just… Thank you.”

 _For being here_ , he thinks. _For marrying me, for staying with me, for loving me._

“For being my family,” he says, summarizing it all up.

He’s grateful for her, to her, and he wants her to understand that.

“I love you,” he adds, because he can, because he wants to, because he does.

She smiles, the light from the sunset dancing around her eyes.

“I love you too,” she says, and she leans down to kiss him.

He gasps when she abruptly shoves him into the water. He breaks the surface, spluttering, getting back to his feet, and brushing water out of his eyes.

“Good,” Jyn says, but her otherwise casual tone is ruined by her guilty smile. “You don’t panic when you’re unexpectedly under water.”

“Oh, is _that_ what that was?”

He shoves a wave of water at her, showering her face and shoulders, and she laughs, swimming away a bit, but he snags her hand and pulls her close, and listens to her laugh, and laugh.

 

* * *

 

**_Present, 10 ABY_ **

Akim’s house is a lot smaller than Cassian expected, though he thinks any house would look small compared to the veritable mansion Yakovi lives in.

The house is also white, and rests just above the beach, much closer to the sea than Yakovi’s house is. Tufts of seagrass litter the sand around the house, and Cassian and Jyn pick their way through it, to the front door. It’s almost painfully quiet here, the only sound coming from the sea breeze, the occasional bird call.

They reach the door, and Cassian looks at Jyn, and she nods, face resolute and set.

 _I love you_ , he thinks.

He almost says as much, but he thinks she wouldn’t know how to respond, wouldn’t know what to do with the words, and so he stays silent.

He knocks on the door.

After a minute or so, the door is opened.

It’s an old man, older than Yakovi, and shorter than him, closer to Cassian’s height. The man is completely bald, his brown skin heavily wrinkled and dotted with sunspots, lines crossing his face in every direction. But his eyes are wide, and that familiar brown, and they lock on Cassian, taking him in.

“Yakovi told me you were coming,” Akim Cassiano says in lieu of a proper greeting.

“You know why I’m here,” Cassian replies, keeping his voice just as nonchalant.

“Yes,” Akim confirms. “Come in.”

Cassian and Jyn walk inside. The interior of the house is just as sparse as the outside, with only a couch and a couple chairs in the front room. The walls are completely bare, thin cracks running from floor to ceiling in a few places, a spider’s web in one corner. The wooden floor creaks under their feet as they move.

Akim directs them to the couch, and they sit, Jyn’s leg pressed against Cassian’s.

Akim settles in the heavy armchair across from them.

“You look like my brother, when he was your age,” Akim says. “Your grandfather, I should say.”

Cassian has not heard of this resemblance before, and so he only nods.

“He did not live to reach his fortieth birthday,” Akim says. “He’s been gone for many, many years. Quannot’s; did Yakovi tell you that?”

“He did.”

“Nasty disease,” Akim grunts. “Pray to Tosi-karu that you do not inherit it.”

“I have a pretty good record with symbols of annihilation.”

Akim’s eyes gleam. “I’ve heard that about you, Cassian Andor. I might say you have that in common with your mother.”

Cassian keeps still, though he’s suddenly filled with a bolt of red hot rage, the kind of fury he has not felt in awhile, the kind of fury he really only held towards the Empire. Toward the Emperor, and Vader. Toward Gallamby on Coruscant, and the torturers on Jenoport. Toward the Man In White, who robbed Jyn of her parents.

Toward the stormtrooper who killed Serafima on Fest.

Akim attempted to destroy Serafima here, on Sernpidal, and very nearly succeeded.

“What do you have for me?” Cassian asks, fighting to keep his voice passive.

Jyn is stiff at his side; she’s known him long enough to recognize the rage simmering under the words.

Akim looks at him, at them both, eyes flickering towards Jyn, and Cassian had not introduced her, and he wonders if Akim knows who she is, if he bothered to look Cassian up after Yakovi told him of their relation, if he read about Jyn like he might have read about Cassian.

“I am not a cruel man,” Akim says, suddenly, and it takes Cassian by surprise.

Whatever he’d been expecting Akim to say next; it hadn’t been that.

“I am not a cruel man,” Akim repeats. “But I am a… poor one. A foolish one. I have made plenty of mistakes during my life, but none as reprehensible as the… the crime I perpetrated against my niece. I robbed her of her rightful inheritance, her father’s legacy. I am ashamed of my actions; and I know my brother would be ashamed of me, as well.”

He finishes this speech, and looks at Cassian, who is startled to realize Akim expects him to say something.

Cassian is certain he can’t offer Akim anything that he’s looking for; nothing he wants to hear.

He can only be honest.

“I don’t care about the money,” he tells Akim. “And I don’t think my mother did either. If she did, it would only have been because she wanted to provide a better life for her children. She raised three children on her own, for four years, and she struggled through those years. She felt guilty for being away from us so much, even though she was only away _for_ us. Working for us, to keep us alive.”

Cassian is quite certain that Akim, in his entire life, never had to work as hard as Serafima did in those four years.

This belief is cemented by the way Akim only blinks at him, his face giving nothing away.

He’s perfectly impassive, perfectly cool, inherently put-together and regal, even as he admits to his wrongs, and it reminds Cassian of Serafima, and of himself.

“She only wanted family,” Cassian says. “That’s it. A family. _That_ is what you stole from her. You put her on a path that forced her to leave her homeworld, this planet she loved so much. She rarely spoke of Sernpidal to us; she’d look so sad whenever we brought it up, and we learned not to ask her about it. She constantly reiterated how much she loved us, how devoted she was to us. I was there when she died; she was reaching for me when she was killed. She wanted to stay with me, so badly.”

He can’t stop his voice from shaking there at the end, and he isn’t sure if it’s due to his anger, or sadness at the memory, so he pauses, gathers himself together, and looks at Akim.

“I don’t think I can forgive you for that,” he says. “If that’s what you’re after. She didn’t have family for long on Fest, but she was without it for much longer than that, when you ensured she lost any living family she had left on Sernpidal. I’ve never had much in the way of family, either, but at least I lost my family to the war, to something out of our control. You say you’re not a cruel man; I disagree. You threw her out of your family, and you never tried to make things right with _her_. You left her all alone, and that was very cruel.”

Cassian feels himself trembling.

He stops speaking, and straightens his back, and tries to keep still.

He wants to look at Jyn, but he isn’t sure what he’ll see there.

Because he’d been talking about Akim, but he also thinks those words could be charges leveled against himself, and he doesn’t know how to deal with that.

Akim stares at Cassian, and Cassian makes himself keep eye contact.

After a moment, Akim nods, and shakily gets to his feet.

Cassian stares, as Akim putters past the couch, towards a back room, vanishing from sight. Cassian takes a chance and looks at Jyn, but she seems just as confused as him, frowning, though he can read the clear question in her eyes: _Should we leave?_

Akim makes his way back a moment later, before Cassian can answer.

He sits back in his chair, and holds a small box out to Cassian, who takes it, bewildered.

The box is very small, only about the length of his hand, and seems to be made of thin wood, like sea driftwood. Carefully, Cassian lifts the lid of the box, and peers inside.

Nestled in the box are two gold rings.

Cassian recognizes the design on them; they match the one Yakovi wears, the one Akim has on one of his brittle hands right now, and he realizes what they are.

“The bigger ring belonged to my brother,” Akim says, quietly. “The smaller one belonged to Serafima; it was too big for her, during the time she had it, and I understand she kept it on a chain around her neck. It belonged to our aunt originally, I believe. Anton preferred family treasures like that. He was always sentimental…”

Cassian gently tips the rings into his palm, peering closely at the symbol on them. It seems to consist primarily of circles; a larger one, and a smaller one, with flowers neatly etched around them both. But he thinks of the Cassianos, and he knows it’s a potter’s wheel, from the potter’s point of view.

“Family rings,” he says to Akim.

Akim nods. “Yes. With the Cassiano family crest. After Anton died, his ring was passed on to me. Serafima’s ring was given to me by the police, after one of her many arrests.”

“You didn’t give it back to her.”

“No,” Akim says, voice quiet. “I thought she had harmed our name enough. I did not believe she deserved to keep the ring.”

Cassian is certain that the loss of this ring, this symbol of her family, this indicator she was one of them, was a devastating blow to Serafima. He wonders how old she was when the ring was taken from her; he wonders if she knew Akim had ended up with it.

“I wanted to give them to you, now,” Akim continues. “If… If things had been different, Serafima would have inherited her father’s ring, to pass on to her son. It belongs to you. As does… the ring that belonged to her.”

Cassian looks up at Akim.

“These would have meant more to her than the money,” he says.

Akim nods.

“Yes, I…” He sighs. “I’m beginning to understand that. I won’t beg for your forgiveness, on her behalf; it is clear you do not wish to give it, and you do not have to. But I… Consider this an attempt at a reparation. A reparation of her family, for her. It is far too late, and I have very little influence on the extended family anymore, but… I am acknowledging her, again. Like I always should have.”

Akim is right.

It is far too little, and far too late.

Forgiveness is a fragile thing.

Fragile, like the beautiful pieces of pottery Serafima would craft in her freezing cold studio on Fest, her young son occasionally peeking in at her, studying her dark eyes, the eyes he inherited. Fragile, like human skin, protected only by sparse hair, easily burned and blackened and torn away by an adept torturer, like a twenty-four-year-old Rebel Alliance spy. Fragile, like the trust of a woman who has been left behind and abandoned, over and over again, and then once more, by the thirty-two-year-old husband who was supposed to stay.

Forgiveness is not something Cassian has ever had much of.

He isn’t a forgiving being.

He never has been.

But he looks at Akim Cassiano now, at this bitter old man, who looked at an orphaned teenage girl and thought he could crush her spirit, only to face a resistance that was anything but fragile.

A teenage girl who was not meant to survive, but did.

Cassian knows a thing or two about surviving when you shouldn’t. It is all he has ever done.

He looks at Akim Cassiano, and thinks that while he can’t forgive this man, he can understand him.

Cassian understands why Akim made his cruel choices. Why he thought they were the right choices. Why he realizes he was wrong now, why he wishes to make amends for it all, even though he knows it’s impossible, that he doesn’t even deserve absolution.

Why he’s trying for it, anyway.

Cassian understands.

It’s all he can do.

It will have to be enough for Akim.

“Thank you,” Cassian says. “For giving me back the rings. And for your regret.”

He sees Akim’s regret, sees it clearly in the man’s aged, dark brown eyes.

He _sees_ it. And he accepts it.

It will have to be enough for Akim.

And it will have to be enough for Cassian Andor.

 

* * *

 

Cassian and Jyn leave Akim Cassiano’s little house.

They go down to the beach, and they walk.

The sun is starting to set in the pale blue sky, and they listen to the cries of the sea birds that flock around the shore, to the quiet lapping of the waves against the soft sand, the wind that brushes through their hair.

They walk, until the little white house is gone from sight.

And then they sink down into the sand, and look out at the sea.

Cassian almost thinks he and Jyn will forever be looking out across oceans. Forever staring at something in the distance, whether it be an impending doom that wasn’t, like they did ten years ago, or a simple sunset, like now.

The sky around the sun is a brilliant red.

Cassian looks at Jyn.

“I can’t forgive myself,” he tells her.

She doesn’t say anything, but her lips thin, and he knows she’s heard him, that she’s listening.

“I know you told me to,” he continues. “That you think I should. And you’re probably right. But I can’t, Jyn. I… I’m not a forgiving person. I never have been, and I’m not going to start with myself. The best I can do is… I can acknowledge the terrible things I did. And do my best to accept them. And try to move past them, and try to be a better man. That’s the best I can do, Jyn, and I’m sorry it isn’t more.”

He doesn’t tell her that maybe one day, he’ll be able to forgive himself.

Because he isn’t sure that day will come.

And he won’t give her false hope. Not again.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Jyn turns her head, and gazes at him, the wind gently blowing through her hair, and though her face is clean and uninjured, there is a sturdiness in her eyes, a defiance, that reminds him of the way she looked at him on Scarif, when their destruction was racing towards them.

“Acceptance,” she muses. “You can accept who you were, in the war? You can move on with that?”

He nods. “I think so.”

She considers this, eyes darting around his face.

“I understand why I did everything I did,” Cassian says, softly. “And I understand that some of the decisions I made were wrong. And I understand that I can’t take them back, and I can’t atone for them. I can only accept them.” He pauses, and adds, “Although there is one I can try to fix.”

He reaches into his jacket pocket, and procures the small box Akim Cassiano had given him, and he opens it, and takes out the smaller ring, and holds it out to Jyn.

“I want you to have this,” he tells her.

Jyn’s eyes are huge, magnified by the light of the sun. She stares at the gold ring in the palm of Cassian’s hand.

“I can’t have this,” she says, and he almost laughs.

“Why not?”

“It… It belonged to your mother, Cassian,” she says, as if he isn’t aware of this already. “You… You don’t have anything left from her, just that one picture, and this ring, and I can’t… I can’t possibly take this.”

“They’re family rings,” Cassian says. “They belonged to my family, yes. And you’re my family now. And I want you to know that.”

He holds the ring out more insistently, and Jyn, hesitantly, takes it.

She holds the ring between two fingers, and stares at it, the sunlight reflecting off its polished surface.

“I’m with you,” Cassian tells her. “ _You_ , first, above all else. Not the war, or the cause, or the Alliance, or the New Republic. I’m putting you first, before anything else. I want you to know that. I hope… I hope you’ll believe me, one day.”

“All the way?”

Her voice is soft, her eyes still wide, but shimmering a little, like she might cry.

“Every time you told me that, you meant you were with _me_ ,” Cassian says, thoughtfully. “And who I am. And every time I said that, I meant I was with you through the war, through whatever you had to do in it, I was going to be there, at your side.”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t realize that. It never occurred to me that someone could love _me_ more than their cause.”

Gabriel didn’t. Nerezza didn’t. Zeferino didn’t. Taraja didn’t. Asori doesn’t. Travia doesn’t.

He thinks Serafima did, but it took him years to realize that.

And Serafima never actively _chose_ to love him. And she never knew him as an adult, never knew of the terrible crimes he’s committed.

Not like Jyn, who chose to love him, despite it all.

“I never loved anyone more than the cause,” Cassian says, softly, and this is the truth.

Not Gabriel. Not Nerezza. Not Zeferino. Not Taraja. Not Asori. Not Travia.

He didn’t love Serafima more than the cause. Not while she was alive, at least.

And he knows he didn’t love Jyn more than the cause.

But he does now.

He’s choosing to, choosing her, now.

“I believe you, now. I understand why, and I understand how such a thing is possible.” He smiles. “So, yes; all the way. Wherever it takes us, wherever we go, whoever we become. I’m with you. I’m sorry it took me this long. I love you more than the cause, more than the war. I hope, one day, you will believe me.”

Slowly, she lowers the ring, cradling it in her hand, and she looks at Cassian.

“I get why you can’t forgive yourself,” she says, softly. “Even if I wish you would.”

“I know.”

“But I do forgive you.”

He’s surprised by the words, and he stills, and can only look at her.

“You’ve changed, a lot,” she says. “More in the last few months than I think you did in the decade before. But it’s… It’s a good thing. There’s… You’re a little more peaceful, Cassian. A little more compassionate, more understanding. Forgiving, I’d say, even if you aren’t convinced of it. I… I’m still nervous you’re going to leave again, but there’s… You’re obviously trying, and… I think you’re being more honest, not only with me, but yourself, and I know that’s cost you a lot. It isn’t something you’re used to.”

He breathes, letting her words sink in, taking in her resolve, and her thoughtfulness.

They aren’t entirely back at where they once were, but they’re getting better. They’re getting somewhere, and it’s a better place.

She forgives him, and it’s all he’s ever wanted from her.

“Thank you,” he says.

She smiles, and he watches as she slides the gold ring that had once belonged to Serafima Cassiano onto her finger.

The sight fills him with a feeling he’d almost forgotten: hope.

That old yearning, always on the outskirts of his life, always at the corner of his eye.

Jyn jerks her chin at the box in his hand. “You have one, too.”

Cassian glances down at the gold ring that had belonged to Anton Cassiano.

“I’ll give it to our son,” Cassian says. “When he’s a little older, of course.”

“No,” Jyn says, thoughtfully. “You should have it. Now. Let it be a reminder that you’re member of _this_ family, too.”

And by that she means herself, and their son.

There are some systems in which couples wear rings to indicate that they’re married.

Cassian has heard of this tradition, though it does not exist on Fest.

He’s pretty sure Jyn knows of this tradition, too, and he thinks her telling him to wear a ring that matches hers means just as much as her actually telling him that she forgives him.

They’re still divorced, but it’s something. It’s hope, for them.

Cassian takes the ring, and slides it onto his finger.

It fits, perfectly, and he wonders just how much he looks like his grandfather.

“Thank you,” he says to her again. “For putting your faith in me, again. I know it… I know it isn’t something you’ve done a lot.”

“You’re usually worth the shot,” Jyn says, and he laughs.

She leans closer, resting her cheek on his shoulder, and he takes her hand in his.

He’s not sure he’s ever felt like this. So calm, so peaceful, so at ease with everything.

The sunset is radiant, in the distance in front of them, miles and miles of dark blue ocean leading to it.

“I know we haven’t really talked about it,” Jyn says, suddenly, snapping him out of his quiet thoughts. “But, uh. I had an idea. For a name.”

“Yeah?”

He can feel her nodding against his shoulder. “Yeah. Yakovi gave me the idea.”

She’s fiddling with the gold ring around her finger as she speaks, and Cassian thinks of its past owner.

“I’ve just, I’ve been thinking about her so much, and I know you have too,” Jyn continues. “And she’s kind of the reason for all of this. She wasn’t the only reason, but I think. I think she was the big reason. The first reason as to why you came back to me.”

“Fima,” he says, quietly, and Jyn nods into his shoulder.

“Fima,” she confirms.

Cassian smiles, and turns his head, pressing a kiss to Jyn’s hair.

It is not the first sunset he’s seen.

Nor the first beach he’s been on, with Jyn at his side.

But he thinks it might be the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this story is "amor fati", a Latin phrase meaning "love of one's fate." it basically means seeing everything that happens in one's life, including the bad, the suffering, and the loss, as essential, and good, and part of one's existence, no matter what. it means accepting all of it, and promoting contentment.
> 
> For Cassian, realizing/believing that he was *supposed* to die ten years ago is the closest thing to forgiveness he will ever have. It means he can try to move on now.
> 
> That might sound terribly sad, but for someone like Cassian, who has forever been defined by the war, it's very powerful, and cathartic. 
> 
> "Fima" as a name was first mentioned when Cassian first met Yakovi; the gold Cassiano ring was first seen there, too.


	14. Epilogue: Per ardua ad astra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Per ardua ad astra: a rough road leads to the stars.
> 
> Or: through struggle and adversity to the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: time jump

**_Six years later, 16 ABY_ **

“And it got the Aqualish all riled up of course, and Han--you know, _Han_ \--being the kriffing moron he is, thought he’d try his hand at translating, even though he _doesn’t speak Aqualish_. I have no idea what he was thinking; it doesn’t sound anything like Wookiee, though to be honest, I’m not even convinced Han understands Wookiee like he claims he does. Anyway, Han starts spouting nonsense, and the next thing I know, I’ve got the senator from Ando in my office asking why _my husband_ is accusing a Quara warlord of bedding a _Bantha_.”

Cassian is laughing so hard that he has to look away from the hologram image of Leia Organa, or else he’s liable to fall into another fit of laughter.

“Leia,” he gasps, once he thinks he can breathe again. “Hell, Leia, but what were you expecting? Sending Han on a diplomatic mission?”

“He’s _charming_.”

“Not to the Aqualish!”

“Clearly,” Leia huffs. “Anyway, I thought you’d get a kick out of that story.”

Cassian nods, trying to pull himself together. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“You don’t happen to speak Aqualish, do you?”

“Not even a little.”

“And you’re smart enough to admit that,” Leia grumbles. “Kriff, Andor, some days I really miss you.”

“Honestly, it kind of sounds like anyone would be an upgrade from Solo’s work.”

Leia scowls. “Well I can’t send him back to Ando, he’s been banned from the whole system. I’ll have to… look elsewhere.”

She rests her chin on her hand, and Cassian notices how exhausted she looks, how her lips are thin, the lines at the sides of her eyes more pronounced than he remembers them being from the last time he saw her in person, six months previously.

“Leia,” he says, slowly. “Are you doing okay?”

“Hm? Oh, fine, of course,” Leia says, shrugging. “It’s just…”

She trails off.

“We’ve been getting some chatter,” she says. “I can’t… I can’t tell you anything more specific, you’re not authorized--”

“Of course--”

“All I can say is that I’m getting a little nervous,” Leia continues. “There are… things. Being said. Rumors, I… I don’t know.” She looks at him. “And you don’t want to know.”

Cassian sighs, running a hand through his hair. “No, not really. But I’m your friend, I can listen, and--”

“No, no,” Leia says, shaking her head. “This is work stuff, not friend stuff. But I just… I want to be ready.”

Cassian understands that.

“Anyway,” Leia says abruptly, shaking her head. “I heard Mantooine is opening a new school soon. Supposed to be pretty fancy, attracting lots of attention from the Core Worlds…” She looks up at him, eyebrow raised.

“Loom Carplin has been setting it up,” Cassian replies. “Sounds good.”

“He had help from a pretty generous anonymous donation.”

“Mm.”

Leia rolls her eyes. “You’re not going to admit to it?”

“ _Admit_ to it?”

“Finally found something to do with your Sernpidal inheritance?”

Cassian sighs. “We’ve done a few things with it already--”

“Yeah, Travia Chan told me that you’re basically funding the orphanage without the city’s help--”

“And Loom mentioned wanting to open a school in his hometown,” Cassian continues. “And it seemed like a worthwhile cause, and it definitely was. But we had nothing to do with it, he and the Mantooians put it together. So I don’t really have anything to _admit_ to.”

Leia smiles. “A worthwhile cause, huh?”

“We’ve been known to have one, every now and then.” Cassian shrugs, smiling. “If you have any causes you might want some help with… Let us know.”

Leia considers this, a thoughtful look on her face. “A cause that requires serious, _anonymous_ , financial backing.”

“Maybe it isn’t anonymous; maybe it’s from Aach.”

Leia snorts, while Cassian turns serious again.

“Hopefully you won’t need us,” he says, quietly. “But you know where to find us if you do.”

“I hope I don’t need to,” she mutters. “That reminds me, though; tell your wife that I met one of her Onderon kids the other day. His name is Ivanu, he works for the Senator of Fondor; he was one of the first kids that orphanage took in, but he remembered Jyn by name, and was glad to hear that she’s doing well. Asked me to tell her hello for him.”

Cassian smiles. “I’ll pass on the message. She’ll be delighted.”

“Good.” Leia looks to the side, and scowls. “Kriff, I have to go. I’ve got a meeting with… Well, I can’t tell you.”

“And I don’t need to know,” Cassian says. “It was nice talking to you, as always, Leia. Thanks for relating to me that story about Han. I’ll be sure to pass that on to Jyn, as well.”

“Yeah, I bet she’ll enjoy it too,” Leia replies, smirking. “Give her my love. She’s getting close, isn’t she?”

“Yes, very.”

“Keep me updated. And give Fima a hug and kiss from me, too, and wish him a happy birthday from us.”

“I will. Talk to you later.”

“Bye, Cassian.”

Leia’s blue hologram image fizzles out of sight, and Cassian leans back in his chair, thinking.

He’s glad, he decides, that he doesn’t know anything about this supposed chatter Leia and the New Republic Department of Defense have been hearing. He’s glad that he doesn’t have to agonize over it, doesn’t have to make plans around it, doesn’t have to live in fear of it.

He doesn’t dread the future anymore, and he’s grateful for that luxury.

He gets to his feet, and pulls on his jacket. He looks around his desk, finding the documents detailing the latest trade reports from Mantooine, and his very well-used Mantooian dictionary, and puts them both in his bag, and heads out the door.

The Executive Building of Fest is fairly quiet today, the middle of the afternoon in the middle of a work day on the last day of the work week. Cassian walks down the hallway, pausing at the door to the Prime Minister’s office, and peers in.

Travia Chan looks up from her work, blinking at him.

“I’m reminding you that I’m leaving early today,” Cassian says.

Travia nods, looking at the calendar on her desk. “That’s right. It’s not everyday that your son turns six years old.”

“Yep. Big day.”

“Well, tell him happy birthday from me,” Travia says, already returning to her work. “Oh, and bring him here, more. I feel like I never see him.”

“You know where we live. You can come see him anytime.”

Travia rolls her eyes. “Get going, Andor.”

Cassian laughs. “Bye, Travia.”

 

* * *

 

Cassian walks to the school that his six-year-old son attends.

It’s snowing on Fest, but he walks quickly down the ice-covered streets, entirely unbothered by the light snowflakes fluttering around his face, in front of his eyes, landing in his dark hair.

The snow never shies away from him, and this comforts him. It keeps him grounded.

It reminds him that he’s here, that he’s alive, that he gets to _live_.

The school is just letting out when he arrives, and he spots Amaia standing near one of the opened doors, watching the children spill out into the street, some dashing for underground tunnels to walk home through, others looking for the transport that will take them directly to their neighborhood, while a handful of parents and guardians wait on the sidewalks.

Cassian walks towards her, and Amaia smiles when she spots him.

“Hi, Cassian,” she says. “Jyn mentioned you were picking Fima up today.”

“It’s a big day,” Cassian says.

Amaia nods, face serious. “Oh, yes. Six years old, can you believe it?”

“Not at all. Are you coming by later?”

“Maybe,” Amaia says, shrugging. “But since Jyn isn’t going to be at the orphanage tonight, I thought I’d drop by. I haven’t been there in a while, and I feel guilty.”

“You shouldn’t,” Cassian says, frowning. “It isn’t your job to--”

“I know,” Amaia interjects. “But, you know. I still do.”

Cassian can relate. “Yeah. Me too.”

Amaia looks past his shoulder, inclining her head. “Incoming.”

Cassian turns, in time to catch his son’s overly enthusiastic hug of a greeting.

Fima is six years old today. He has thick, slightly curly dark brown hair that automatically marks him as Jyn’s son, and soft brown skin, and his head catches Cassian in the stomach when he hugs him. But when Fima looks up at him, all Cassian can see are his big brown eyes, the eyes he inherited from his father, and the grandmother he was named after.

“Hi, Papa!” Fima says, voice carrying with joy.

Every time Fima sees Cassian, at the end of the day, he tends to behave like he has not seen him in months, rather than just that morning. Cassian knows Fima is going to grow out of this, sooner rather than later, and so he delights in it now.

“Hi, Fima,” Cassian replies, returning his son’s hug. “Happy birthday.”

“You told me that this morning.”

“And I’m telling you again. How was school?”

“So long,” Fima mutters, and Cassian laughs. Fima looks past Cassian, and spots Amaia. “Hi, Amaia!”

“Hi, Fima,” Amaia says, smiling. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” Fima says, returning her smile.

There is something about Fima’s carefree happiness, the casual way he lives, how he runs fearlessly down the street and enthusiastically jumps into his father’s arms, that brings both wonder and sorrow to Cassian. Wonder, because Cassian remembers being six years old, and knows he wasn’t anywhere near as unworried and joyful as his son is.

Sorrow, because he is terrified that his son’s seemingly inherent curiosity, his warmth and openness, will be crushed out of him as he grows older.

He doesn’t know how inevitable it is. If he and Jyn might be able to help Fima retain these traits that help make him so endearing, and so bright.

Cassian takes Fima’s hand, and Fima doesn’t try to pull away.

Fima is six years old, and still glad to hold his father’s hand, and it is something Cassian is grateful for.

They say their goodbyes to Amaia, and then begin to walk down the street.

Fima swings their arms as they walk, practically buzzing with energy. “Where’s Mama?”

“She’s meeting us at home,” Cassian replies. “She wasn’t feeling very well this morning, but I talked to her this afternoon, and she’s all set to celebrate your birthday with us.”

Fima nods, accepting of this answer.

“What did you learn about in school today?”

“Planets,” Fima replies, and then launches into quick speech. “We talked a lot about this planet called Coruscant, it’s in the Core Worlds, and the whole planet is one giant _city_ , and it was the capital of the Old Republic, and it’s got all these old buildings, and an Opera House, and the planet is built level after level after level, and there are five _thousand_ levels, and the levels under the top levels are called the Coruscant Underworld, and it sounds _astral_ and I wanna see it.”

Fima finishes this speech, taking a gulp of air, unaware of the way his father’s shoulders have stiffened, how his hand has tightened around his son’s.

“Have you heard of it, Papa?” Fima asks.

“Um, yes,” Cassian says. “I used to live there.”

Fima stares up at him. “Really?”

“Yes. When I was a teenager.”

“What was it like?”

The Royal Imperial Academy, all red and black and white.

A sniper rifle, pressed into a seventeen-year-old’s hands, looking up at the manic grin of an evil man.

The bright lights and loud noises of the Uscru Entertainment District, a teenaged boy with brown hair and blue eyes and a kind smile, _Take another shot, Joreth, I dare you_.

Blasts and explosions, blasterfire, bombs going off in the dark streets of the Coruscant Underworld, blood staining the sidewalks red.

Agonized blue eyes, soft black skin, a twenty-three-year-old woman bleeding out in the arms of a desperate twenty-year-old man, the Galactic Opera House on fire around them, _Cass, I-I think I’m d-dying._

A bleeding hole in the forehead of a young man wearing a gray Imperial officer’s uniform.

The clanking of a tall, gray, KX-series Imperial security droid, powering back on, flexing its fingers, trying out this new world, this new life, _Cassian Andor. Hello_.

Tall and imposing, Lemniscate emerging out of the fog of the Coruscant Underworld, death incarnate.

Cassian looks at his six-year-old son now.

“Not as nice as Fest,” he says.

Fima looks a little put out, so Cassian adds, “Perhaps you will like it more than I do.”

Because the Coruscant of today is not the same as it was twenty years ago. The Empire does not reign there anymore. There are no stormtroopers marching down the streets, no Imperial officers looking out for rebels to shoot and kill on sight, no explosions massacring innocent civilians everyday.

“Has Mama been to Coruscant?”

Cassian laughs. “She has. She used to live there, too, when she was about your age. She might like it even less than I do.”

Fima scowls. “You guys are so _boring_.”

Cassian can’t help but laugh again.

He thinks about telling Fima, _I’m glad you think so_ , but imagines that wouldn’t go over very well.

They get on a city transport, and Cassian listens to Fima as he chatters about the rest of his day, the conversations he had with his friends, and how he’s looking forward to learning about more planets, and all the while, Cassian looks at him.

He’s so happy, and he’s so small, and he’s so _innocent_.

He doesn’t know much about the war, about how his parents met, about who his parents were during the war. He doesn’t know much about his mother’s past, her criminal adolescence, or her Imperialist father who built the Death Star. He doesn’t know much about his father’s past, his fractured childhood, his decades of service in the Rebellion as a spy and a killer.

He only knows that his name came from one grandmother, and the kyber crystal necklace around his neck came from the other.

He doesn’t know anything about his parents’ lives immediately following the war, their first marriage, or their separation, or their divorce.

He only knows they’re together now, that they’re married, that they both wear matching gold rings.

Cassian knows that Fima will learn bits and pieces of this history. He’ll learn about the war, at some point, and he’ll have questions, and he’ll ask his parents what they know. He’ll want to know more about his dead grandparents, about his father’s dead siblings, about where his mother came from.

He’ll finally ask why his father gets so sad, sometimes. Why his mother’s hands clench into fists when she reads histories from the children she takes in at the orphanage in the city.

Why most of his parents’ friends are people they’ve met in the last six years, save for a handful of others.

He’ll ask why the orphanage his mother runs exists in the first place.

He’ll ask why his father sometimes gets called in the middle of the night to go to some other sector of the planet, because an old Imperial bomb has been set off, and they need him to identify it.

He’ll ask, one day, and Jyn and Cassian will give him answers.

Because they grew up without having their parents to answer their questions, really without their parents at all, and they don’t want that for their son.

They want him to understand them.

 

* * *

 

Cassian and Fima exit the transport, and walk to their house.

Cassian opens the door, and Fima ducks under his arm, darting inside, calling, “Mama, Mama!”

“This way!”

Fima follows Jyn’s voice, running down the hall, and Cassian takes off his shoes and coat before following him.

Jyn is sitting at her desk, one arm around Fima, who stands next to her, so their heads are level. Fima is already chattering away about something, and Jyn leans her forehead against his, listening intently, nodding along, and asking a question or two.

Cassian stands in the doorway, and watches them.

He feels like he could look at them forever, and even that wouldn’t be enough.

“… Cassian?”

“Sorry?” He asks, jolted back by Jyn saying his name.

“Fima was telling me how he wants to visit Coruscant,” Jyn says, raising an eyebrow at Cassian. “What do you think?”

“He’ll probably like it more than we do.”

“Not difficult to do,” Jyn mutters. She glances down, and adds, “And go take off your shoes and coat, you’re dripping snow everywhere.”

Fima nods, and skips out of the room, running back down the hall.

Cassian picks his way around Jyn’s desk, crouching down next to her, putting her face above his.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

She groans. “Like I got hit by a train. It’s so much more difficult this time around. I asked my doctor, and she said it could be because it’s a girl, that I’m carrying her differently.”

Cassian nods, trying and failing to keep the grin off his face.

“A girl,” he says, unable to hide his delight. He’d barely stopped smiling since they’d found out.

“Think we can handle her?”

“We’ve done all right so far,” he says. “Fima will be fine, too. Sisters are the best.”

“He’s going to be six years older than her,” Jyn notes.

“Ezza was six years older than me,” Cassian replies. “She adored me, and I adored her. Fima can look out for her, like Ezza looked out for me. They’ll be okay.”

“I’m glad Fima gets to have a sibling,” Jyn says, quietly.

Because she grew up without any, and wished for one desperately.

And Cassian grew up with two, and can’t imagine his childhood without them.

Abruptly, Jyn adds, “Coruscant.”

Her voice is flat, and Cassian looks back up at her.

“It sounds like he only learned about the planet itself,” he murmurs. “Not anything about the war. He told me about the layout of the planet, how it used to be the capital of the Old Republic… How there’s the Coruscant Underworld, and an Opera House.”

“Cass,” Jyn says, softly, recognizing the pain in his voice.

“It’s fine,” Cassian says, shaking his head.

It is not Fima’s fault that Cassian hears _Opera House_ and can only see Taraja’s broken body, the blaster hole opening up in Zeferino’s forehead.

Fima doesn’t know any better.

“I know we’re going to tell him… a lot,” Cassian says to Jyn now. “But I don’t think I can ever tell him everything about Zef.”

Cassian has talked frequently about Nerezza with Fima, and has only spoken even more of her in the last few months, with the news that Fima was also going to have a sister. He’s described Nerezza’s ferocity, her bravery, the fact that she would have loved and adored her nephew to pieces.

But he has much less often spoken of his brother, keeping his words short and to the point, mentioning only an occasional tidbit about him.

He wonders if Fima has noticed this discrepancy, this difference.

Cassian suspects that he has; and that Fima has just chosen not to bring it up, probably because he can’t fathom a reason for why Cassian speaks with such warmth of Nerezza, and such discomfort of Zeferino.

Cassian doesn’t speak of Zeferino for the same reason Jyn so rarely tells Fima about her father.

It’s difficult to speak of the dead you never really got a chance to understand. The dead who betrayed you, who claimed to love you but did such horrific things, orchestrated such terrible acts against you, and the people you cared for.

And there’s also that Cassian doesn’t believe he can ever tell his son about how he killed his own brother.

They’re on Fest, where such an act, the murder of one’s own brother, kin killing, is considered irredeemable, the height of deplorable.

Cassian has, by and large, accepted the murder of Zeferino, even as it pains him, and saddens him.

He’s able to explain it, and justify it, but he can’t get through describing it without falling into guilt, and a deep melancholy.

“You don’t have to,” Jyn says. She reaches forward, and rests her hand on Cassian’s face, and he leans into the touch.

“He’ll wonder why Zef didn’t die on Fest like the rest of them,” Cassian says. “Why he isn’t buried next to my parents, and Nerezza. Hell, I don’t even want to tell him that Zeferino died on Coruscant, because I think that’ll make him not want to visit it.”

“I’d be okay with him not wanting to visit Coruscant.”

Cassian laughs. “It isn’t _that_ bad.”

“I couldn’t save you there,” Jyn murmurs. “I thought you died, and I thought I was looking at your dead body. It definitely is _that_ bad.”

“Jyn--”

“Taraja died there, and so did Wada, and Zeferino,” Jyn adds. “How is it not _that_ bad to you?”

“You told me you loved me, for the first time, on Coruscant,” Cassian says.

Jyn stares at him.

“That’s a good memory,” Cassian says, smiling.

“You thought that you were about to _die_.”

“And it would’ve been an incredible last memory.”

Jyn sighs. “You are optimistic about the _weirdest_ shit--”

“And you love me for it.”

“Yeah, I do,” Jyn says, rolling her eyes, though the smile on her face defeats the gesture.

From down the hall, they hear Fima’s voice calling for them.

“We don’t have to tell him anything today,” Jyn says. “He’s six, and it’s his birthday. We’ll have dinner, and dessert, and he’ll tell us all the things he and his friends talked about at school, and then Poe messaged earlier saying he’ll call tonight, and we’ll talk to him, and he’ll tell us how the Academy is going, and while Fima is busy idolizing him, you can tell me what Leia had to say.”

“Don’t let me forget to tell you what Han did to the Aqualish.”

Jyn snorts. “The Aqualish? I can’t wait to hear this story.”

Cassian straightens, and pulls Jyn to her feet, letting her hang on to his shoulder for balance, her center of gravity shifted this late in her pregnancy.

“Good?” he checks.

“Good.”

 

* * *

 

Things weren’t automatically solved after Sernpidal, after the death of Shara Bey, after the exchanging of the Cassiano family rings on the beach.

Cassian and Jyn returned to Fest, and tried to figure everything out. He moved into her apartment, and slept in the same bed as her, but they barely touched, behaving more like platonic, close roommates than anything else.

Jyn continued to work with Amaia, continued to pull the orphanage together, and Cassian followed her around, and saw his counselor weekly.

He still wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he had time.

And then Jyn went into labor, in the middle of the night, during a particularly violent snowstorm.

The nurses at the med center told them that it was a good sign, that children born during snowstorms on Fest are the hardiest ones, the strongest ones, the true survivors.

It had not exactly been comforting to Cassian and Jyn, who have sometimes been _only_ survivors, and nothing more. It was not something they wanted to define their son, like survival in spite of everything had so frequently defined them.

But then, he was there.

Fima.

Red, and wailing, and clearly very shocked at how events had unfolded, but still the most beautiful thing either of them had ever seen.

Cassian looked at him, and he was gone.

Completely done for, like how Shara had described him, after he’d met Jyn.

Lost, like how he’d felt at the Battle of Jakku, upon realizing he couldn’t possibly leave the war as he was.

But this was different.

Because for, perhaps, the first time, Cassian truly became set in stone, looking at his son then.

Hopelessly devoted.

Jyn held Fima in her arms, and Cassian touched Fima’s face with the tips of his fingers, and he couldn’t believe he was real, that he was theirs,

He turned to her, and her expression mirrored his own perfectly.

 _This is why we survived_ , he thought. _For him_.

This was a reason, at last, for them to still be alive.

“Hi, Fima,” Jyn cooed, smiling, her face wet with tears.

Fima’s eyes were startled, and huge, and brown, and Cassian could not take his eyes off him.

 _There you are_ , he thought. _I know you_.

Like he’d always known him, and had been waiting for him, all this time.

“I love you,” Cassian told him, though Fima could not understand the words, could not grasp them.

Cassian looked up at Jyn then, and she was crying again, and he knew he was, too.

“I love you,” he told her, because he’d loved her for over ten years, and he couldn’t _not_ tell her.

Jyn’s face twisted up, but she nodded, and managed to pull one hand from Fima, to touch Cassian’s tear-streaked face.

She still worried that she couldn’t afford to tell him the same, but the gesture, taking her hand off their newborn son to touch Cassian’s face, was all he needed.

It said so much, on its own.

Everything wasn’t solved, not entirely, but they were getting there.

 

* * *

 

A flock of visitors made their way to Fest.

Predictably, Kes and Poe were among the very first, staying for well over a week, expressing enthusiasm and congratulations, Poe humbled at the revelation that he had once been that small, Kes commenting that Shara hadn’t been kidding about the Sernpidal eyes thing.

Shara, of course, had not lived to meet Fima; but they swore they felt her presence all the same.

Asori Joshi was next, fresh from Coruscant, and she held Fima in her arms and frequently marveled at his existence, the fact that she’d lived long enough to meet Cassian’s son.

Leia made it from Chandrila, and she smiled brightly at Fima, falling in love with him almost as quickly as his own parents had.

“He looks just like you, Jyn,” Leia said, and it was the first time anyone had said that.

Jyn had looked dubious at this, but as per usual, Leia was proven right.

Cassian had always looked more like his mother than his father, and it was a fate his son inherited.

As Fima got older, it became clear he was Jyn’s son, with her hair, her chin, and her smile.

He took his first steps towards her, across the front room of the house they’d moved into shortly before Fima had turned a year old. Cassian let Fima’s hands go, and watched as the baby walked slowly, on unsteady legs, his eyes locked on Jyn, as she called to him from a short distance away.

He reached her, and fell into her arms, and cackled with delight, and Jyn laughed with him, and Cassian thought of old dreams, of hearing their laughter and never being able to find them, and reveled in gratitude that he could be with them now.

That he had this time, with them.

Time to be good, to do good.

Time to forgive himself.

 

* * *

 

For the first two years of Fima’s life, both Cassian and Jyn worked in the orphanage.

Fima went with them, everyday, and he was far too young to understand the significance of the place, far too young to wonder at all the children he encountered, who enjoyed playing with him, who relied on his parents for support and affection.

Cassian had been a teacher, a mentor, and a friend, for the child soldiers of the Fest Rebellion, and he took on a similar role now.

But instead of teaching the children how to fight, how to shoot, how to kill, he taught them how to cook, and how to sew, and how to climb.

How to live, and why to live.

There was so much hope in these orphans, and it was a stunning thing to see.

They’d lost so much, but they wanted to believe that they lived in a good universe, on a good planet.

Cassian and Jyn were eager to validate their hope.

They took in every child that came to them, first from Fulcra, then Fest, then the Atrivis Sector at large, and they made sure no child went without, using the inheritance from the Cassianos, because they could, because they thought Serafima would have approved of this useage.

Because it gave these children a home, and that was what she had always wanted.

Of course it wasn’t easy.

Many of the children were traumatized, were heartbroken, were angry, and afraid.

They lashed out, and raged, and didn’t understand the galaxy, how it could be so cruel, and callous. Many lived in terror that the Empire would return, that they’d wake up one morning to stormtroopers patrolling the streets, to the entire orphanage set on fire.

They weren’t the only ones who lived with that paranoia born from so much trauma.

A little girl came to them from Mantooine, with black skin and haunted brown eyes, and told Cassian that her name was Taraja.

It wasn’t _her_ , it wasn’t the Taraja who had died eighteen years previously, but it was a girl from Mantooine with her name, that Mantooian name that means hope.

Cassian spoke to her in Mantooian, and she smiled at the familiar words, and she hugged him tightly, and he wondered at how he could feel so devastated and so joyful at once.

He told as much to Jyn, and she wrapped an arm around his waist.

“It’s good to feel that way, Cass,” Jyn said, leaning against him. “It shows you _care_.”

To care, so much, even after surviving decades in a war; it isn’t nothing.

It’s a lot.

It is a remarkable brand of resilience.

It is one Jyn has shown, time and time again.

Defiantly, in the conference room on Yavin 4, when faced with rebel leaders and soldiers, all there to interrogate her, all there to get something from her.

Quietly, in the shuttle from Eadu, dealing with the death of Galen Erso, glancing at the rebel Captain partially responsible for it, and listening to him speak.

Devotedly, in the middle of death row in Lemniscate, surrounded by darkness on all sides, hands pressed to a glass window, mouthing last words to someone who couldn’t hear them.

Furiously, in the corridor of Echo Base on Hoth, attacking a wall of ice with a single-minded fury, the deaths of so many only a year in the past.

Gratifying, on the battlefield of Jakku, blood-stained, knuckles bruised, smiling through it all, accomplishment on her tongue.

Toughly, on the streets of Onderon, cobbling together a new life, deciding to use that new life to improve the lives of others.

Forgivingly, on Fest, one arm wrapped around the father of her son, watching their two-year-old son play in the snow in front of them.

Cassian looked at her, and reflected on all this.

“Marry me,” he said.

She turned, and stared up at him, eyes wide.

She’d been the one to ask, the first time around.

He was going to, now.

“What did you just say?”

“Marry me,” Cassian repeated, and he smiled.

“We already have a kid,” she noted, still staring at him. “And we live together, and we’re… _together_. And we already tried the marriage thing, and it didn’t work out. So… _why?_ ”

“Because I want to marry you,” Cassian said. “Because you’re wonderful, and resilient, and you’ve never wanted to give up on me. Because you forgive me, constantly. Because I’m in love with you. Because I have been, for twelve years, and I always will be.”

She blinked at him, and he was sure she was thinking of her own proposal, on Zastiga, eight years earlier. When she’d offered similar reasons for wanting to marry him, and he’d said yes.

“I love you,” Cassian repeated. “And that… That wasn’t enough, last time. But it is this time. Because there isn’t anything I love more than you, or Fima. Not the cause, not the war, not anything.”

_“You bastard,” she says, practically snarls it. “You knew this was always going to happen, didn’t you? You never thought the war was going to end, but you still… Why the hell did you marry me?”_

_His eyes open, and he stares at her._

_“Because I love you,” he says, like this should be enough._

It was enough, finally.

And she believed him.

“Okay,” Jyn breathed, and her smile matched his.

 

* * *

 

They got married on Fest, in the Fulcra City Hall, Travia Chan and Amaia Chias, two-and-a-half year old Fima in her arms, as their witnesses.

They didn’t exchange kyber crystal necklaces this time. They’d decided that Fima was going to inherit the one that had belonged to Lyra Erso, and besides, they had the Cassiano family rings, and that was more than enough.

Leia somehow managed to refrain from telling them _I told you so_.

Kes rolled his eyes at the news, but smirked, and did tell them _I told you so_ , claiming to do so on Shara’s behalf.

Yakovi Cassiano, on Sernpidal, sent them a vase.

 

* * *

 

When Fima was four years old, Travia Chan was chosen as Prime Minister of Fest.

It was a landslide victory, like her two elections for Mayor of Fulcra had been. Travia was popular, had always been, and it was logical that she make a bid for Prime Minister. She’d continue to serve the people she loved so much, on the planet she adored; just now on a bigger scale.

Shortly after her election, she took Cassian to lunch, and asked him to serve as her Ambassador to Mantooine.

She knew Cassian could speak Mantooian very well; much better than just about any other Festian, and she knew Cassian had a solid understanding of Mantooian culture, and customs, and trade, alongside his knowledge of Fest. And Loom Carplin, Minister of Defense for Mantooine, knew him, and liked him, and would encourage other members of the Mantooine government to listen to Cassian, no small feat, as relations between the two planets were always rocky.

He was a perfect fit for the post, she told Cassian, as he gawked at her, and so she’d wanted to offer it to him.

“It was, in part, thanks to you that the Fest Rebellion began communications with the Mantooine Liberators, and formed the Atrivis Sector Force,” Travia said. “You’re smart, and diplomatic, and considerate of Mantooians. That isn’t exactly typical.” She paused, and added, “You’ve wanted us to work with the Mantooians since you were a child. I remember that well, because I thought it so strange.”

Cassian remembered that, too. His first mission off-Fest, to Mantooine, where he’d met Taraja, a Mantooian child turned rebel, who he’d related to so much, who he’d believed, correctly, would become a great ally. He’d told Travia as much upon return, and she’d vehemently disagreed.

“But you were right, then,” Travia continued. “And I should’ve listened to you, and I didn’t. I want to, now.”

She’d always offered him various positions during her tenure as Mayor, but Cassian had declined them all, choosing to work in the orphanage with Jyn.

But this job was different.

It was something he really _wanted_ to do.

He went home, and he talked to Jyn about it.

“I’d have to go to Mantooine a few times a month, for a few days,” he told her. “And I wouldn’t work in the orphanage anymore, obviously, but downtown, in the Executive Building, with Travia.”

Jyn considered this.

“Mantooine isn’t far,” she mused, and this was true; Mantooine was only an hour away from Fest by ship.

“You’d still be here, Cassian,” she said, looking up at him. “And Travia’s right; you’d do a great job. I think you should take it.”

Cassian looked at her. “Really?”

“You really want this job,” Jyn said, smirking. “I can tell. But, you… You asked me what I thought about it first, not like you did when Leia offered you the Intelligence job in the New Republic. You just left, then. And I’m not even sure that was a job you actually _wanted_ , but one you thought you _had_ to take.”

He nodded, because this sounded right.

“It’s good work, Cass,” Jyn said, and he nodded again, because it was good work, the kind of good work he had always wanted to do.

It would mean helping the people of Fest, and the people of Mantooine. Of convincing them of their similarities, of trying to build friendship and diplomatic relations and keep the two frequently-sparring planets in relative peacetime, together.

It would mean Cassian would be a peacekeeper.

He had never been one before.

It had always been the war, for him.

This was so much better.

“I don’t want you to think I’m leaving you,” he said, quietly. “Or Fima.”

“And you aren’t,” Jyn replied. “You’re coming back. You always do.”

She was so convinced, so certain.

Her faith in him was strong.

It was something he’d always wanted from her; her trust, and her faith.

They weren’t back to what they used to be, exactly.

They were better.

 

* * *

 

**_Present, 16 ABY_ **

Cassian is forty-two years old.

Jyn is thirty-eight years old.

“You know what name Amaia is pushing for,” Jyn says, tugging her knit hat over her hair.

Cassian smirks, pulling on his boots. “Is it… Amaia?”

“She suggested it for Fima, too.” Jyn says, with a sigh. “I like the name, I guess, but I think it’d be too confusing.”

“Mm. Any others you’ve been thinking of?”

“Taraja?”

Cassian stills, and looks at her, one hand frozen, reaching for his coat.

“It means ‘hope’ in Mantooian,” Jyn says, face passive.

Cassian frowns. “That’s true, but I don’t remember telling you that.”

“When the baby keeps me awake, with her kicking, I read one of the Mantooian dictionaries you keep on your side table,” Jyn replies, shrugging. “I keep hoping it’ll bore me enough so I can fall back asleep, despite her best efforts; but I’ve ended up learning some of the language instead. It’s a nice name, Cassian, with a good meaning.”

“It is,” Cassian says, slowly. “But you can’t give a Festian child a Mantooian name, Jyn. She’ll get picked on for it.” Jyn opens her mouth, and he adds, “We named Fima after my mother; maybe we should name our daughter after yours.”

“Lyra?” Jyn checks, and he nods.

She considers this, running a hand over her stomach thoughtfully, and looking at the shelf above the fireplace, where the hologram of young Jyn with her parents, and the picture of young Serafima, safe in a frame, rest.

“Maybe,” Jyn says at last. “I’ll think about it. I’m worried it’ll make me sad, more than anything else.”

“That would be another reason, then, not to name her Taraja,” Cassian says, thoughtfully. “Or Nerezza, for that matter.”

“Aw, but Ezza is such a cute nickname.”

Cassian smiles, getting to his feet. He picks up Jyn’s coat, and holds it out for her to slide her arms through.

“Cute enough to be worth the melancholic husband?” he asks.

Jyn turns around to face him, eyebrows raised under her hat.

“Cass, you’re _already_ the melancholic husband.”

He laughs, and shakes his head, turning around to where Fima is carefully stepping into his snow boots.

“Fima,” he calls. “What do you think we should name your sister?”

“Oh, great, Cassian, ask the six-year-old--”

“Jyn,” Fima says, surprising both parents.

They look at him.

Fima is six years old, and it’s the day after his birthday.

“It’s a girl’s name,” Fima explains, clearly confused as to why his parents are staring at him like that.

“Yes, but it’s _my_ name,” Jyn says.

“Do you not want to share it?” Fima asks, blinking up at his mother. “It’s a good name.”

Jyn opens her mouth, closes it, and shrugs. Her eyes are wide, confused, and Cassian is quite sure that she’s deeply touched by this suggestion from their son.

Cassian watches as Jyn reminds Fima to put on an extra scarf, because it snowed the night before and it’s still bitterly cold out, and the sky is a dark gray threatening more snowfall, but they haven’t been to the market in almost two weeks, and so they really need to go today.

Fima follows Jyn’s direction, and darts back to his room for a scarf, and Cassian turns to Jyn.

“It isn’t a bad idea,” he says.

“We can’t name her after _me_ ,” Jyn says, almost indignant.

“Maybe not Jyn exactly, then,” Cassian suggests. “But something similar. Close. Let’s think about it. We still have some time.”

“Not much.”

“But enough,” Cassian says.

He steps close to her, and lifts a hand, to touch her face.

“To be clear, I would be delighted to name her after you,” he says. “In some form or another.”

“You’re taking the recommendation of a six-year-old?”

“He’s very smart,” Cassian replies. “Why don’t you want your daughter to be named after you?”

“It’s weird, isn’t it?”

He laughs. “Jyn, I was named after my mother. I’m going to say no.”

She scowls, and Cassian brushes her bangs out of her eyes.

“You don’t want to name her after you,” he says, slowly, studying Jyn’s face as he speaks. “Because… You don’t think you deserve that honor?”

“Ugh, you do know me,” Jyn grumbles.

“Yes, and I love you, and I cannot stress just how much I disagree with you about you not deserving your daughter sharing your name. Or some variation of it. Fima agrees with me too, clearly.”

“I ended up with two absurdly sweet boys,” she comments, still looking unconvinced. “I’ll think about it, all right?”

He nods. “Thanks.”

She grabs the front of his coat, and tugs him down to her height, to kiss him.

“I love you,” she says, softly.

It’s always taken a lot from her to say the words, to be so honest with him, and Cassian is grateful that she trusts him now, that she loves him still, over sixteen years since they first met. Sixteen very difficult, turbulent, devastating, painful years.

There’s been a lot of good years, though, especially as of late.

Fima returns to the front room, pulling on a scarf, all the way chatting about Poe, and the flying exercises he’s doing at the Academy, and Poe was already learning to pilot when he was Fima’s age, so when exactly is he going to learn to pilot?

Jyn snorts, and tells Fima to ask his father about that.

She buttons up her coat, and turns, opening the front door of the house.

It’s snowing outside, the soft wind blowing gray snowflakes around.

“Come on, boys,” Jyn calls, already stepping through the snow, walking with an ease and grace she has cultivated over the years on Fest. “I want to drop by the orphanage sooner rather than later.”

Fima beams with delight.

He walks outside, and Cassian follows, closing the door behind them.

“When can I learn how to pilot, Papa?” Fima asks, looking up at Cassian, standing in the deep, fresh snow, and Cassian sighs, because he’d been hoping Fima would conveniently forget about this.

“Not for a few years,” Cassian says.

Fima frowns. “But Poe was--”

“Poe’s mother taught him to fly,” Cassian replies. “And she was a far better pilot than me. Far more confident.”

Fima looks torn about this, but he never met Shara, and it’s clear that he’s unsure if Cassian is telling the truth or not, and unsure if he can accept this reasoning.

“You’ll learn to fly,” Cassian tells him. “Just. Not yet.”

There is no immediate reason for Fima to learn how to pilot on his own, unlike the galaxy Cassian grew up in. It’s peacetime; there is no hint of war, no hint of Imperialists, no hint of violence or bombings or shootouts on Fest.

Fima is six years old. When Cassian was six years old, he was a messenger for the Fest Rebellion, running coded messages around Fulcra, dodging puddles of gossamer red blood that stained the soft gray snow, throwing rocks at Imperial Walkers that terrorized the streets, diving into alleys to avoid blasterfire and bombings.

Now, his son runs around Fulcra with his friends, plays tag in indoor public gymnasiums, and orchestrates massive snowball fights in open spaces. His son plays in the city, fearlessly, because there is no war on the planet to be scared of, no battle near their home to flee from.

“The next time you go to Mantooine,” Fima says, speaking quietly, “Can I learn to fly then? Will you take me with you?”

Fima has gone to Mantooine before, has visited the planet with Cassian and Jyn. He marvels at the tall, gold sand dunes, at the bright blue that dominates the clear sky, the reds and oranges of the sun. He likes the colors, but not the heat, something he has in common with Jyn.

“I didn’t think you liked Mantooine that much,” Cassian notes.

Fima shrugs. “I miss you when you’re gone.”

And that makes Cassian still, standing in the gray snow.

He crouches down in the street in front of Fima, putting his son’s face above his.

Fima is six years old.

It is the age Cassian was when he lost his father.

He swears Fima will not inherit this fate.

“I love you,” he tells Fima, because he can remember both his parents telling him that they loved him, and the memories have always brought him such comfort, and he wants Fima to have this, too. “I love you, and your mother, more than anything in the galaxy. I’m never going to leave either of you. I’m always going to come back.”

He wants Fima to know that he will never choose to leave him, will never choose a cause, and a war, over him.

It was something his father did, and Cassian has not entirely forgiven Gabriel for it.

_“I am sorry I cannot be home more,” says Gabriel. “I would be home more, if I could. If I thought it was the right thing to do. One day, I hope you will understand why I have done the things I have.”_

“Do you understand?” Cassian asks, blinking Gabriel away.

Fima nods, smiling, with Serafima’s brown eyes.

“I love you too, Papa,” he says, without hesitation, simply stating fact.

“Good,” Cassian breathes, and wraps Fima in a tight hug, pressing a kiss to his head.

_“You are so good, Cassi.”_

_“You are too, Mama.”_

_“I have tried to be.”_

And so has Cassian. He has tried to be good. He does good work, now.

“I still want to learn how to pilot,” Fima says, and Cassian laughs.

“You will, in a few years,” Cassian says. “You should get Poe to teach you.”

He pulls back, and jerks his head ahead of them, to where Jyn is walking down the street, getting in her head start while she can; she walks more slowly than Cassian and Fima these days, with her pregnancy.

“Stick by your mother,” Cassian tells Fima. “Hold her hand, and don’t let her fall, okay?”

Fima nods, suddenly very serious, and darts away, leaping over the snow that’s well over his knees, running fearlessly, scrambling to Jyn’s side. Cassian straightens, and watches as Fima reaches her, and takes her hand. He watches as Jyn turns her head, and smiles down at her son.

She looks back, and grins at Cassian.

“Come on, Cass,” she calls, her voice carrying over the soft wind, the sound of her and Fima’s boots crunching through the gray snow.

“Hurry up, Papa,” Fima yells, carefully copying Jyn’s footprints in the snow, matching her, step for step.

(There was once another little boy on Fest, who followed his fearless mother through the gray snow, who shadowed her, who matched her steps.)

(He got a little lost, for a while, but he found his way back, to the right path.)

(He found his way home again.)

(It’s snowing now, like it was then, like it always does on Fest.)

(It is gray, and it is harsh, but it’s home.)

(There’s a forgiveness to it.)

Cassian smiles, and hurries after them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cassian telling Leia that he and Jyn are ready to help her is to hint that in this Universe, Cassian and Jyn help fund The Resistance.
> 
> That's it for me, and this series, which is some 370,000 words, begun on December 28, 2016, and finished June 9, 2017. (Ish). If you have read all of them, you are my hero.
> 
> I never anticipated writing 370,000 words about a character in ROGUE ONE, but there was something about Cassian that grabbed me and wouldn't let go. There was a hint of an incredible story in him, and I wanted to try to tell it.
> 
> If you liked this story and/or series, please do drop a line, here or on tumblr (I am theputterer there too.) There was a sickening amount of time devoted to this fanfic series and I'd be delighted to know if you enjoyed it.


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